Darke Dreams and Healing Hands
by Shattering The Greenhouse
Summary: For almost 2 years, Merrin Meredith has been in love with a girl that he saw only in his dreams. But when a mysterious girl arrives in the Castle, and Darknesse approaches, Merrin must be ready to decide if he will be courageous, or be ruled by the Darke.
1. Tainted Dreams

**DISCLAIMER! **

**The Septimus Heap series belongs to Angie Sage. Not me. If i did... holy crap. That would be awesome. BUT HEY!**

**I was looking through this site and I was horrified to see that there were barely any (like, 1) Merrin Fanfic. And it's not even for him! So, like the fangirl for the misunderstood characters i am, i decided to write one. **

**This story contains JennaXBeetle, AltherXAlice, MerrinXOC.**

**So if you don't like MAGYK, you're in the WRONG PLACE!**

**Please rate/review!**

It was a beautiful afternoon in the middle of summer, a perfect time to explore. The sun was just passed its zenith and was descending, letting the afternoon light give the Forest and warm, comforting glow. Two teenagers walked quietly through the thick underbrush, saying little, but there was really no need to.

"Why'd you bring me out here anyway?" one of them, a tall, lanky boy with dark hair and a brooding expression, demanded of the other, a lithe girl with a wild look about her.

She laughed lightly, twirling on the forest floor, her long patched skirt billowing out around her. Her long brown hair flowed out behind her, the sunlight highlighting the light streaks of blonde. She looked to the boy as though she had spent her whole life in this forest, and the beads and feathers in her hair and skirt only confirmed this. She was what most people in the Castle would call a "Wendron Witch", a troupe of girls who practiced White Witch Lore and Earth **Magyk**. They were shunned, even feared, by the Castle dwellers, but the dark haired boy had no fear as he followed her through the underbrush.

"The forest is beautiful at this time of the afternoon." The girl commented, smiling distantly up at the trees as if that answered his previous question.

The boy frowned slightly at her, he didn't like being dismissed. He opened his mouth to remark that a place that could possibly mean the end of your existence was, in no way, beautiful. But then he looked up and his mouth slowly closed. The sun was shining through the trees, illuminating their path. Dragonflies zoomed past, chasing a number of small insects while butterflies flapped their gorgeous wings. The path was smooth and comfortable to walk on, with no stray roots to trip on, and the rustle of the trees sounded more like a comforting whisper than anything else. There was **Magyk** in the air, but not the type of Wizard **Magyk** that he had grown accustomed to. It was old **Magyk**, far more ancient than anything he'd experienced.

His frown faded, and a look of awe replaced it. He'd never seen the forest this way before. It was... beautiful. The boy hadn't seen much beauty in his life, and this to him was like biting into his first licorice snake at Ma Custard's. Sweet and Delicious. Except, he thought, without the stickiness. He didn't realize that his mouth was hanging open until the girl giggled.

"Yeah…" he coughed, covering up quick. "You're right." He was blushing though.

The wild looking girl grinned her crooked grin, the one that always made the boy think that she was mocking him.

"See? What did I tell you? You can just lose yourself in some place like this." She smiled at the trees and did another small twirl while the dark haired boy studied her. Her bare feet glided across the Forest floor noiselessly, and she moved with a light step, weightlessly, almost like she was dancing and the only thing that kept her rooted were the clothes she wore. She laughed lightly as she moved, she looked... happy. And, he thought, blushing, beautiful.

_"You can lose yourself in a place like this..." _her words echoed in the dark boy's mind as he followed, gazing at her. She wasn't like anyone he'd seen in the Castle. Ever.

"Or someone…" he whispered quietly, following her.

They kept walking for a while, he wasn't sure for how long. She was right, he thought, you can lose yourself in the Forest. Even time, he found, seemed to be slowing down around them. He could've been walking for days, weeks, months even, he didn't know. But he didn't panic. He was calm. Eventually the forest thinned out and they reached a clearing overlooking a cliff. Mist surrounded the clearing, giving it a mysterious and **Magykal** look. It would have been beautiful if it hadn't felt so... malevolent. The boy bristled; he'd been here before. Something was wrong.

He jumped at a scuffling in the bushes, and cursed himself. He didn't want to seem like a sissy around the wild girl. But he couldn't get rid of the terrible feeling. He looked at the girl, who hadn't noticed. She was simply staring out over the cliff in a trance. He frowned, then heard another sound. A sound like marching. It was getting louder.

Quickly, he ran over to the girl, who had gained a considerable distance on him, and stood next to her protectively.

"Did you hear that?" he muttered, urgency in his voice.

The girl was still in a trance, her strange eyes- one bright blue, the other green- were glazed over as she stared out. She was humming softly. The boy stepped back. There was something in the girl's face...

Then he heard a horn.

Suddenly, with what seemed to be a great effort, the girl snapped out of her trance and rounded on him, her face had lost it's carefree grin and her mismatched eyes were filled with terror.

"They're here!" she hissed, pushing him to the forest with surprising strength for once who he thought so light. "Go! Quickly! Get out of here before-"

She was cut off when a flash of** Darke** light struck her, sending her sprawling across the clearing. She crashed into a tree and crumpled to the ground, motionless, a crumpled heap of brown, green, and russet red.

"NO!" The boy yelled, running over to her, but then a second flash sent him crashing into the underbrush, dazed.

His vision went fuzzy, but he managed to drag himself to his feet. He had to get back to her. He began to run back to where he assumed the clearing was, but he couldn't find the path. The marching noise was getting louder. The beautiful Forest that they had walked through was gone, replaced with one filled with** Darknesse** and foreboding. The sun was no longer lighting his way, in fact, the it seemed to have disappeared completely.

The marching suddenly stopped.

He heard a scream, a girl's scream. His heart froze.

"NO!" he yelled again, running blindly through the forest towards the sound. Everywhere he ran, trees blocked his path, everything seemed the same.

The girl's screams were all around him, fading into the distance.

The marching had begun anew.

But the boy still ran. He had to find her before…

He tripped on a branch and sprawled on the forest floor.

"NO!" he yelled and-

Woke up.

Merrin Meredith lurched from his small bed in his attic room in the Palace and ran out into the corridor in a panic, his bed sheets tangled about his long legs. He was sweating and breathing hard, the screams of the wild girl still ringing in his ears. He looked urgently around him, the** Darke** Forest of his dreams still lingering in the corners of his eyes. Merrin put his hand on the wall, panting as if he had just run a marathon. Anger and despair rose up in his chest, and he punched the wall in front of him. Then cursed.

"Ouch." Merrin shook feeling back into his hand and slumped against the wall, sliding down to the floor, holding his head miserably.

Why did it always have to end that way?

It started so beautifully, and then…

Merrin shuddered, his dream still lingering in his mind.

"Goddammit, Merrin" he hissed to himself.

It had been almost seven years since his apprenticeship with DomDaniel had been revoked. And here he was, almost 17 (he gathered anyway) and still suffering from bad dreams. But this one was different, he knew.

He let his mind wander, depressed, back to the the first time this dream had visited him, a year and a half ago. At 15, Merrin was just beginning to be interested in girls. But no matter what, they wouldn't even look at him. Not that he wasn't attractive, he was. He was tall and dark looking, with a permanent brooding expression and a guarded look in his eyes. He was the perfect bad boy, and when he walked past, he did get some looks. But they were fearful, not flirtatious. No one could see past his mistakes. It wasn't his fault he had been Apprenticed to DomDaniel! He had been barely six months when he was taken in a case of mistaken identity, called Septimus Heap, and instructed in **Darke Magyk**. Then, 10 years later, he'd had his life wrenched from him and given a new name- Merrin Meredith. Really? _Merrin Meredith? _

Then a guy with curly hair and, though he'd never admit it, actual **Magykal** talent, appears and takes his name, AND his spot as Apprentice to Extra Ordinary Wizard, Marcia Overstrand. Not only that, at 15, he was getting flirtatious giggles and waves whenever he walked by, which was more than Merrin ever got. As if he didn't have enough to be jealous of!

But when he'd fallen asleep one night, he was greeted warmly by the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen- he though anyway. And she was all his. His Dream Girl. Not anyone else's. Merrin had tried in vain to get her name, but she'd always giggled and danced away. Slowly at first, he began to trust her. He began to tell this dream girl all his hopes and dreams, while she actually _listened!_ They had explored the dream Forest together every night, and every morning Merrin regretted waking up. Then suddenly, one morning as he watched Septimus Heap walking down Wizard Way and getting waved at and cooed over, he realized- He didn't care. He had his dream girl, he didn't need anyone else.

He was in love.

But he wouldn't admit it, even to himself. Merrin Meredith, in love with a girl he'd never met? Only dreamed about? Never even gotten her name. Pfft. Right.

Imagine that.

But he couldn't escape it. And then the nightmare came, taking the girl away and leaving her screams ringing in his ears every night.

No matter what he did, he couldn't change the dream. He'd tried. God, he'd tried. But he couldn't. Night after night, he would spend those precious hours with his dream girl, only to have her taken away and wake in a cold sweat. It was like some cruel joke.

Merrin took a shuddering breath and pushed himself off the ground before someone saw him. He ducked through the door way to his room- for he had grown again and was outgrowing his door post- and pushed open his grubby window, feeling the early morning air. He took a few deep breaths and ordered himself to calm down, watching the goings on of the early risers in the Castle.

"C'mon, Merrin. You're almost 17. _Relax. Breathe. Forget about it_."

But he couldn't. And he wouldn't. He knew that, and as long as he was in the the Castle he would be haunted by the dreams.

He needed to get out.

Now.

Or soon. He just needed to leave, get a hold of himself.

He looked at the clock along Wizard Way. Almost 7 o 'clock. Great.

Merrin sighed and pulled on his Manuscriptorium robes, not bothering to brush his hair, and left his room, absorbed in his thoughts. He was so lost in them that had the Princess walked past, he wouldn't have noticed. Not that he would've cared, he would be gone soon anyway. Gone from everything, the Castle, the people, the lifestyle, and hopefully, from the dreams.

He couldn't handle losing this girl anymore. It gave him pains in his chest just thinking about it.

"That's it." He muttered decisively, "Tomorrow, I'm gone."

But little did he know that he wouldn't go tomorrow. Nor the next day, nor the next. Something kept him at the Castle, almost as if some **Magykal** force wanted him to find something… or someone.

**Ooooh! What's gonna happen? What will Merrin find? Find out in the next chapter!**

**Thanks so much for reading guys! **

**Please Rate/Review! Or Message me! I won't bite!**

**Hahaha! Until the next!**


	2. The Vision

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SEPTIMUS HEAP/MAGYK! IF I DID, I WOULD'VE PAIRED JENNAXBEETLE ALREADY!**

**Hey guys! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the first chapter of Darke Dreams.**

**And thanks for being patient with me! This chapter took me a while- a lot of edits! Hahaha**

**In this chapter we're introduced to the girl who has haunted Merrin Meredith's dreams for almost two years. Could she be having her own dreams? Featuring everyone's favourite hapless villain? Hmmmm. **

**Without further ado, Chapter Two!**

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**Darknesse.**

All around the wild girl was **Darknesse**, stretching out for miles. Miles? She couldn't see her hand in front of her face, how could she even begin to imagine her prison? It could've stretched for an infinite length, so even if the girl possessed the strength to crawl forward, it would be hopeless. She might be walking forever, not getting anywhere near the end. Shadows were lurking in every crack and corner, watching her with their horrible, red eyes. She could feel them breathing down her neck, giving her a terrible feeling of hopelessness. She tried to fight the feeling, think of something happy, but everything seemed so distant... almost as if from another life. It took so much effort to fight the dread, the hopelessness, the pain, and the **Darkenesse.** She couldn't take it anymore.

With a sigh and a shudder, the wild girl allowed herself to lean back, to relax. She closed her eyes; she would let the **Darke** take her. She had no choice.

"Wren…" a voice called softly.

It was familiar to the girl, comforting somehow.

"Wren…" the voice came again, calling louder this time.

The girl looked up at the sound, discovering to her surprise -and immense relief- that she could see clearly in front of her. Up ahead was a light, a beautiful, kindly light. It was almost painful from being stuck in the darkness, and instinctively she crawled towards it.

"Wren… Come quickly, please!" the voice called, and from the light walked the tall figure of a boy. His face was illuminated, showing concern and urgency. The boy's dark hair fell in his face, and he brushed it away irritably. The girl staggered to her feet and practically fell into his arms, too weak to care about how this looked.

The boy stroked her hair comfortingly, "C'mon, Wren." He whispered softly into her hair. "We're going home."

The girl smiled and leaned against him. This feeling was like coming home.

"Wren!" another voice called, breaking the girl out of her reverie. She looked up, so did the boy. The light was getting brighter.

"**WREN!**" The voice was yelling now, harshly. The girl looked at the boy who held her, trying to get a glimpse of his face again before…

**"WREN ELLAWYN! WAKE UP!"**

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"Wherrg." The wild girl, Wren Ellawyn, opened her mismatched eyes blearily and rolled over in her teepee, gathering the sheepskin blankets closely around her and huddling down into a ball. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep, to allow her dreams to take over and the strange, dark-haired boy to hold her again.

But sadly, that was not going to happen.

The door to Wren's teepee was yanked open and watery light of the half hidden streamed in. The owner of the voice that had roused her from her sleep was holding the door open, scowling at her. Strands of her yellowy hair had escaped the braid that held it back, and now hung in her face. Her witchy-blue eyes flashed with annoyance and her jaw was set. She was older than Wren, maybe eighteen?

No one could be positive in the Clan, no one except the Witch Mother, whose business it was to know everything about the younger witches of the Clan, even their ages. This was a fact about the Witch Mother that annoyed the older witches to no end, but there was really nothing that they could do about it.

"Wren, get up immediately. The Witch Mother requests your company." The girl looked down at her with slight contempt.

Wren frowned at the roof of her teepee, hoping that the older witch would, for once in her life, leave her alone. She just wanted to sleep. Then she registered what was said.

The Witch Mother?

"Did you hear me, Birdie? I said, get up! The Witch Mother cannot be kept waiting!" she yelled at her, getting a couple of groans and witchy-curses in her direction from other members of the Coven.

"Shut up Petra!" someone yelled, much to Wren's amusement. Petra snarled in the direction of the yell, and Wren giggled, earning a death glare in her direction. To Petra, Wren knew, she was an immature witch with no concept of responsibility, always running off to dance and explore. When Wren did help out around the Coven, it was only healing, and to Petra, that was an art that could be spared.

Wren crawled out of her teepee, irritably adjusting her short, green summer tunic and brown trousers. On a normal day, she would've given the older witch, Petra, a piece of her mind. But not today, not when the Witch Mother wanted her.

"I'm coming." Wren followed Petra into the Witch Mother's teepee with a resigned air, catching a few sympathetic glances from other young witches. Fabulous. Wren thought, sighing, as she ducked into the teepee, brushing her long brown hair out of her eyes.

Inside, Morwenna Mould sat on a cushion in deep meditation, being tended to by about three witches of various ages. She was an intimidating figure, being a large woman with long graying hair and a permanent air of mystery about her. Morwenna wore the witches' green summer tunic with a white sash around the waist, sturdy looking sandals, and a green leather headband. She looked motherly and kind, but Wren knew that underneath that warm countenance, there was a powerful and unpredictable force driving her, and that was what made the Witch Mother even more imposing.

At their entrance, Morwenna opened her witchy-blue eyes and smiled at her. "Thank you Petra. You may go now." Petra nodded stiffly and with a glare in Wren's direction, was gone. Two of the attending witches followed, but the last, a younger witch of about nineteen with long mousy hair and a somewhat distant expression, stayed. She smiled at Wren, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

"Good morning Wren." She greeted her in the soft Forest burr that all Witches spoke with.

Wren grinned back, "G'morning Marissa." She hadn't seen her friend for a long while, and rumors were going around that Morwenna might be training her to take over as Witch Mother.

Wren, for one, was happy for her, she hadn't seen her this happy since... well..

Ever since visits to Camp Heap had been forbidden, Marissa hadn't really been the same. She had always been giggly and confident, the normal traits in a Wendron Witch, but she started to become quiet and gentle, only speaking when she had thought about what she was going to say. Wren had missed the old Marissa, the one who had joked with her, taken her to see baby birds hatching, and helped her through her hardships. She knew that Marissa had been very close to a certain Heap, JoJo, so close that had any of the other young witches so much as looked at JoJo, they would wake up the next morning with a bird-beak.

Wren almost giggled at the memory, but when the visits had been forbidden, Marissa had barely ever giggled. Though one look at her now reassured Wren that she was on the road to recovery.

"Ahh, Wren." The Witch Mother's warm voice jolted her out of her reverie. "You look well, how are feeling? Would you like some brew?"

"Yes, thank you Witch Mother." Wren took the cup gratefully, all the while wondering what Morwenna could've called her for. She took a sip of Witches' brew and sighed softly as the warm liquid flowed into her system, "And I'm well, thank you…Just a little tired." She couldn't help adding; remembering with a slight frown the rude awakening which she had received.

The Witch Mother nodded, smiling knowingly, "I'm glad."

They sipped in silence for a couple of minutes, Morwenna studying the sleepy girl across from her. She had grown considerably over the years, Morwenna thought with a smile. The small, wild little girl with the disturbing mismatched eyes, crooked grin, and light feet had always been special in Morwenna's eyes. There was something about her that oozed life and youth. On top of that, Wren had something that the other witches of the Coven didn't: an extraordinary skill in healing. Morwenna had noticed this when Wren was only small and immediately decided to teach her all she needed to know about healing Magyk and herbs. It wasn't long before Wren's healing ability took root and blossomed.

Healing Hands. That was what the Witch Mother called it.

Wren's Healing Hands.

Before long, Wren was healing everything from illness to wounds with far more skill than even the most experienced healers. But when she somehow reattached a severed arm, and seemingly incurable illnesses were cured under her hands, Morwenna knew that there was more to this girl than it seemed. Her suspicions were only confirmed when her left eye had suddenly turned a bright, wizard green.

Eyes of a true Healer.

Morwenna told no one of her discovery, and Wren remained the Coven's official healer, and up until recently, that was all she had been. Other than family. Other than a friend. Other than a daughter.

But now…

Morwenna's brow creased as she remembered the vision she had had just a few nights ago. What on earth could their little healer have to do with the Castle? Whatever it was, Wren would have to go to the Castle until her mission became clear. That was where she was needed. Where she would be safe.

But what from?

Who, Morwenna wondered, could possibly gain from harming a sixteen-year-old healer? What could she possibly have done to want some to cause her harm?

The answer frightened her, and that was saying something.

Across the teepee, Wren was absorbed in her own thoughts as well, yet they had nothing to do with her. Her thoughts were centered around the dark-haired boy who saved her in her dreams last night. He was seemed so… strong. So brave. So set on saving her life.

Wren could barely help the lopsided smile that formed on her mouth when she thought of him. The dark boy seemed to be in every dream of hers; whether on the sidelines of a dance in a crowded circle, watching her from a window of a stone building, or protecting her from the **Darkenesse** that reached out for her, inviting her into it's everlasting slumber….

Wren shuddered against the thought, rubbing her arms as if cold, even though it was the middle of summer and the teepee was warm. She didn't like **Darke Magyk**. Sure, Wendron Witches tried the occasional **Darke** trick every so often, but that was harmless, really. No harm meant by it. Truly. Though she knew that the inhabitants of the Castle had a different view on the antics of the Wendrons. They knew them as con artists who stole, lied, and practiced all manner of strange things. Fortunately for the Wendron Witches, they were spared the finer points of the Castle dwellers' views, for they neither knew nor particularly cared; what difference did it make to them?

It wasn't like any of them would be going to the Castle anytime soon…

Marissa, who had obviously gotten tired of simply sitting there, waiting for the Witch Mother and Healer to come out of their reveries, cleared her throat loudly. Both jumped slightly at the sound, coming back to themselves.

"Ah, yes. To the point." Morwenna began, "Wren, my dear, you are familiar with the ability of **Second Sight**, no?"

Wren nodded, of course she had. It was a rare gift that enabled the user to see into the future- or parts of it. Morwenna herself had it. Some of the Wendron Witches had partial **Sight**, but it wasn't as strong as Morwenna's.

"Yes, Witch Mother, and that you are blessed with it." She affirmed.

Morwenna nodded, and took a breath. This would not be easy.

"Two nights ago, I received a vision of great importance. In this vision, I saw a boy walking through **Darkenesse**. I sensed a great turmoil in his heart, an inner battle- a choice rather- between the **Darke** and the **Light**."

Wren frowned slightly, wondering why the Witch Mother was telling her this- and why it sounded so _familiar_.

"As he kept walking, faces were appearing on either side of him. For example; there was a middle aged man with **Darkenesse** on his face, a boy whom I recognized as the seventh son, and…" Morwenna paused here, "a girl."

Wren blinked, "A girl?"

Morwenna nodded. "But she wasn't a Castle girl. She wore the hair-beads and leather headband of a Wendron Witch, yet she was wearing the robes of a Healer." The Witch Mother studied her face closely, as if seeking answers in Wren's eyes.

Wren found that her heart was beating fast, "Wh-Who?" She almost dreaded the answer

"I believe, my dear," The Witch Mother took her hand in her own, her witch-blue eyes looking deeply into Wren's, "That the girl is you. I believe that you have a part to play in this young man's destiny."

"H-how? How could I possibly-?"

"I don't know." Morwenna looked at her seriously, "But this is an omen, and omen's must be obeyed. You must find this boy and guide him onto the right path, otherwise the results could be catastrophic."

Wren looked down at her hands, how could she help a boy she barely knew? She was barely past her sixteenth birthday!

"I know it's a lot to ask of you, Wren, but you must help him."

Wren heaved a quiet sigh, and looked up at the Witch Mother. What she saw shocked her. Morwenna suddenly looked a lot older, worn down by worry and dread. Her normal imposing figure appeared less intimidating all of a sudden, and her eyes were tired and... was she _scared? _With a jolt, Wren realized that it was _she_ that was causing the Witch Mother this stress.

She knew what she had to do.

"Alright." Wren swallowed hard, "I'll be gone by morning."

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	3. On the Road

**Again, this is getting old. I don't own Septimus Heap. Angie Sage does. Lucky woman.**

**Thanks to all those who read and reviewed. It's appreciated.**

**Chapter 3!**

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Dawn had barely broken when Wren left the Wendron Witch Coven for the Castle, and the morning was cool. She tugged her witch-green cloak close around her shoulders and adjusted her rucksack. Marissa had packed it with everything she thought that Wren would need, which was a relief, but it was _heavy!_

Nonetheless, Wren made steady progress as she trekked through the Forest. Like most Wendrons, she was familiar with the Forest Ways, but she wasn't going to take them on this journey, as quick as it would make it. She had a stop to make on her way, and it was important.

Wren walked lightly through the underbrush, her bare feet making no noise as they deftly dodged roots and twigs. She knew this route by heart, able to walk it blindfolded and backwards – honestly – and soon she had made it to a slight incline. Taking care to hide herself amongst the trees, she peered into the clearing. The smell of a smoking campfire met her nose and she stifled a sneeze. Nonetheless, she poked her head around the tree and grinned at the sight that met her. In the clearing, what appeared to be a small camp sat comfortably. There were four large piles of leaves in a small semi-circle around a campfire. She knew this camp well, for she had visited many times with admiring teenaged witches. They had helped build those piles of leaves that Wren knew housed boys- well, young men now.

Camp Heap.

The site where four of the famed Silas Heap's sons were living.

As she watched, a tall figure of a man emerged from one of the piles and stretched. He was dressed in a short, brightly colored tunic with trousers and furs. His straw-colored-rat's-nest of hair was matted and he looked rather disheveled.

"Sam? Sam Heap?" Wren whispered, loud enough so he could hear.

The man jumped and whirled to face her direction, grabbing a large stick from the pit for a weapon. Wren had forgotten how long it had been since she had last seen them, since Morwenna had banned them from visiting.

"Who's there?" the man growled, scanning the trees, keeping a tight hold on the stick.

"Sam, it's me!" Slowly, so as not to freak him out, Wren stepped out of her protective clump of trees. "Wren." The man, Sam, looked in her direction and dropped the stick.

"Wren?" Sam Heap looked at her in disbelief. She'd grown from the twelve-year-old she had been when he'd last seen her, Sam thought. She was a young woman – Witch rather – now. He barely recognized the little witch he had known back then.

When Morwenna had forbidden visits to Camp Heap, Sam had taken it the best. The giggling young Witches who had entranced his younger brothers had simply irritated him. But Wren was different. She reminded him of his own little sister, Princess Jenna. She was smiley and laughed a lot, like her, but she had a mischievous, carefree, and daring air about her that was entirely her own. And best of all, she didn't giggle and flirt and flounce as the other witches did. She was his favorite Wendron, like his own little sister.

Sam stepped forward, a grin forming on his mouth, and wrapped the younger girl in a bear hug. "You've certainly grown." He smiled at her, she grinned back, her trademark crooked grin.

"You too. I could practically hang from your facial hair." She teased. Sam poked his tongue out like a little kid, but he chuckled and rubbed his chin, which was, in fact, covered in hair.

"What brings you here, Wren? I thought Morwenna banned you all from visiting?"

"She did." Wren shed her pack with a sigh of relief and seated herself on one of the logs in the campfire pit. "I'm heading off to the Castle, Morwenna wanted some things done…" she let her voice trail off as she caught Sam's look.

Disbelief.

Anger.

Wren could practically read the "WTF?" on his face.

"The _Castle?_" Sam exclaimed, looking at her, "Why on earth would the_ Witch Mother _want you to go to there? I mean, you know how they view Wendrons."

Sam had lapsed into the Forest way of addressing the inhabitants of the Castle as "they" rather than "we". The Forest Heaps had spent nearly seven years in the Forest, so they viewed themselves more as Forest creatures than Castle dwellers.

"And why would she send you-?"

Wren never had time to answer –which was just as well, for she had no excuse– because the rest of Camp Heap emerged from their leaf piles with sleepy eyes.

"Did I hear a Wendron?" one of the twins - either Edd or Erik, she could never tell – inquired in a tired voice.

"I think you did, Edd." The other twin confirmed, brushing his matted blonde hair out of his face and smirking at Wren.

"Birdie! We haven't seen you in ages! What's been keeping you?"

"The Witch Mother, Erik, you idiot."

"No need to be testy Edd."

"Shut-up. Hey Birdie, brought any of your friends? We've missed them." This comment was served with suggestive smirks and winks.

Wren grinned mischievously at the disheveled twins. They were young men now, about twenty, and with stubble themselves. As ever, they were impossible to tell apart, especially now when their hair was matted and their faces dirty.

"They've missed you too, believe me. The Wendrons' have missed some male company."

Sam smacked both of the younger boys over the head and sighed, "Horny Buggers."

"Wendrons? Marissa-?" the final Camp Heap member, a nineteen-year-old boy with his straw-colored hair in braids and a tattered headband, rolled out of his leaf pile and looked around hopefully. When his eyes fell on Wren, he couldn't hide his disappointment, but he managed a half-hearted smile anyway.

Wren looked at him apologetically, " 'Fraid not Jo-Jo. Just me. But I have a message from Marissa."

Jo-Jo brightened immediately, and Wren opened her rucksack. She pulled out some packages of Witches' Brew and some freshly made bread supplied by some admiring young Witches. She handed them to Sam and the twins, and reached her hand into the bag, rummaging around for a while.

"Now… where did she put it? She put all these things in here and didn't even put it in a- AHA!" with a triumphant grin, Wren pulled out a few brightly colored head bands and handed them out to the Heap boys.

"From Marissa and the others, with love." She smiled as they put them on.

Jo-jo had a lopsided smile pasted on his face as he held the headband, his eyes soft and smiling. He sighed a quiet sigh and put it on, smiling softly as the other boys rolled their eyes at him.

Wren watched him with interest – this was how Marissa acted when someone brought up Jo-Jo. She remembered asking her about it once, but she had dismissed the question with a "I'll explain when you're older" which had annoyed her to no end, seeing as Marissa was only three years her senior. Nonetheless, she hadn't understood how Marissa felt then, and still didn't really know now.

Love, was it?

Maybe, Wren hadn't known. That was the disadvantage of growing up with no male interaction – she had had absolutely no idea about that kind of stuff.

Until that dark boy in her dreams.

The one whose arms were like a warm fire.

Whose face made her subconscious weak in her dream knees.

Who saved her from the Darkenesse.

Wren shook her head to clear it, the mere thought of that boy jumbled her thoughts and clouded her mind. But he also brought her back to reality.

She had a job to do.

Shouldering her rucksack, she said her goodbyes to the Camp Heap boys and left camp. Now that her load was considerably lighter, Wren's pace was faster, and by the time the sun had reached it's peak in the sky, she had reached the edge of the Forest and was peering out at the Castle.

Wren's eyes widened at the sight of the huge wall, separated from her by a wide, slow-running river. She sat down in the shade of the trees, hidden from any eyes that might happen to glance her way, and took out her lunch. As she ate, Wren pondered what she would do next. She had left the camp, made her way through the Forest, and now all she had to do was figure out a way to get into the Castle unnoticed. There was no way anybody would let her in looking like a Wendron…

Wren sighed and emptied the contents of her bag, looking for something that might help. She found a pouch full of money, a compass, a map of the Castle, her pouch of healing herbs, a old-looking book on **Physik**, and leaf-wrapped packages of enough food to last her for at least a week. Was that it?

No.

She reached into her rucksack and pulled out, much to her surprise, a long, high-waisted, burgundy colored skirt, layered with stripes of mute colors, with a small apron at the back and deep pockets. Following it, there was a creamy-colored short-sleeved blouse and sturdy looking sandals, with a headscarf that matched the skirt.

Wren examined the clothing with a grin, with these, she would look just like a country girl from a family farm - she hoped.

Marissa had thought of everything.

* * *

Half an hour later, Wren Ellawyn, Wendron Witch, had become Wren Ellawyn, healer girl from the Far Countries. She breezed down the path to the North Gate, feeling her heart pound. She handed the Gatekeeper a few six-pence and swallowed slightly. What if he saw through her disguise?

But to her relief, the Gatekeeper, a large, stocky man with a permanent scowl, barely glanced at her, only at her money and nodded her through the huge gates. Wren just about laughed in relief – she had made it!

She took off down a wide path and smiled up at the warm afternoon sun, she had made it to the Castle, now all she had to do was find the strange boy… and maybe her dream boy while she was at it.

With a wry smile, Wren pulled out her map of the Castle, looking over it as she walked. Morwenna had given her directions to a place where she could stay, a Wizard cloak shop owned by a Mr. Bertie Bot. Apparently, he had been lost out in the Forest when he was younger and Morwenna had given him directions to get back. Of course, he owed her a couple of favors since then, so Morwenna knew he'd jump at the chance to redeem his debt. Mr. and Mrs. Bot were lovely people, apparently, and their shop was conveniently situated on Wizard Way, the busiest street that sold everything and anything to do with **Magyk.**

"Brilliant." Wren smiled, and stuffed the map back in her rucksack, looking around.

The Castle wasn't really what she'd expected – well she hadn't known what to expect, but it wasn't this – there were shops on both sides of the road, selling wares, sweet-smelling food, dull-colored clothes, and many other things. People going this way and that, chatting amongst themselves. Mothers with small children, craftsmen yelling out obscenities to laughing teenaged boys while girls giggled. All types of people, all with a job to do, lives to live.

Wren smiled slightly, her head spun slightly. She'd never seen so many people all together! How on earth was she going to navigate this place?

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	4. Impossible

**Chapter 4. Impossible**

**Thanks to everyone who reads my story! I appreciate it!**

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The morning that Wren left for the Castle was cool. The wind swept through the basically deserted streets, pounding on the doors and rattling the windows. It wasn't the nicest morning, and everyone who was lucky enough not to have to go to work was indoors, asleep or continuing their daily lives inside.

They were the lucky ones.

That exact though was going through the mind of a lone figure. He was being buffeted by the wind, keeping an arm up in front of his face as if to ward it off. His long dark hair whipped around his sullen, irritated face, and his dark gray Manuscriptorium robes flew out behind him like voluminous grey wings. The figure looked, though he did not know it, rather intimidating.

Merrin Meredith did not feel intimidating right then. He struggled to tame his Manuscriptorium robes and wrapped his cloak a little tighter around him. This was no easy task, for it was flying out in all directions like the kite of a child, and refused to do as it told him. Eventually Merrin gave up and resigned to shivering for the rest of the walk. He ran a hand through his messy dark hair and sighed irritably. Even in summer the mornings were cool here; was it too much to ask for a little sunshine every morning?

_"I love the Forest at this time, it's always so warm..."_

Merrin yawned and stretched sleepily, trudging out of the Palace gates. His legs felt like lead as he followed the cobblestone path up the Wizard Way. Towards the Manuscriptorium. Merrin groaned inwardly; why on earth anyone would want to begin work at 8 o 'clock was completely beyond him, but that was Jilie Djin's idea, not his. If _he _ran the Manuscriptorium, work would begin at 10 o 'clock at earliest.

But he didn't.

So there he was, walking around the Castle at twenty past seven, waiting for work to start.

Awesome.

Merrin yawned again, and he rubbed his eyes as he walked – as slowly as possible – up the Wizard Way. His limbs were heavy and he was very tired, but he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. Not that he really wanted to, what with the girl's screams still ringing in his ears.

_"Help me, Merrin!"_

_"Please!"_

He shuddered and hugged himself, glaring at the ground like he could burn a hole in it. Why did it have to be him who was haunted with these dreams? Why was it that he was the one who had to watch helplessly while invisible forces took away the only girl who bothered to listen to him? Why was his name the only one that she screamed? Merrin glared, he bet that Septimus Heap guy didn't have dreams like that. He bet that he wasn't woken up every morning with screams in his ears and Darkenesse around him. _He_ had plenty of girls who all wanted to talk to him, and he didn't have to worry about losing _them._

Why did he have to spared of this, while Merrin woke in a sweat every night. He was just as good-looking as he was, wasn't he?

_Why Him?_

Merrin looked over at a teenaged girl who was setting up for the morning's sales. The daughter of Una Bracket, Merrin knew, for she often came to the Manuscriptorium on errands for her mother. What was her name again? Jo? Josey? Josephine! Josephine Bracket. She had chest-length strawberry blonde hair that she generally wore up in a "regal" looking bun, and grey eyes that were somewhat suggestive when they looked at boys guys her age. She was one of Septimus' many groupies, and one of the most devoted. It was rumored that once she had stolen his Apprentice belt and would only give it back in exchange for a night with him. Merrin believed that the pig-head had gotten his friends to get it back instead. Not surprisingly, Josephine Bracket didn't have the best reputation in the Castle. She caught his gaze across the street and flashed him a suggestive smile. He shuddered.

Merrin had gotten his share of sleezy glances when she came to the Manuscriptorium, and he didn't enjoy them one bit. He felt sorry for her, to be honest, just thinking about the type of boys she spent time with when not with Septimus. The Ex-Young Army boys had a reputation almost as bad as her's. As unpleasant as he normally was, Merrin couldn't imagine how guys could treat girls like that. Like they were their property. It disgusted him. If _he_ could find his dream girl... well he didn't know what he would do, but it wouldn't be what the Ex-Young Army boys did to Josephine Bracket, that's for sure.

_"Come on, Merrin! You'll have to wait another full day for the clearing to look this beautiful if we miss it!"_

_"Nothing like it. Not in the whole world, I'll tell you."_

Merrin kicked at a stone angrily and sent it spiraling down the cobblestone street. He needed to find a way to kill some time before work, something to do, something to take his mind off of his- his problems. That's what he would call them. He didn't know what, but he knew that if he didn't do something soon, he would explode!

_"Of course not! I'd never forget you, silly boy!"_

_"Never, I promise."_

By this time, Merrin had almost reached the Manuscriptorium's big purple door. Number thirteen Wizard Way, home of the Magykal Manuscriptorium and Spell Checkers Incorporated. He looked up at the huge clock tower along the Way, hoping that somehow time would've sped up and it would time for work.

7:25.

Fabulous. 35 minutes.

_"Don't mind what the Castle-dwellers say! What do they know about us?"_

_"Nothing, that's for sure! Hahahaha!"_

Merrin sighed, clenching his fists in annoyance. He couldn't get her voice out of his head. Laughing and carefree, warm and mischievous, or laced with fear. Whatever it was, it churned his belly and made him want to throw up. He couldn't do this anymore! Suddenly, he whirled around and took off down the Way, back towards the Palace. He took a turning and ran down an alleyway, then a back way, then another street; he didn't know for how long he ran, but he just kept running.

_"I love to run, don't you? It's like you can fly..."_

Merrin loved to run. When he ran he felt like he could grow wings and fly away from everything, from anyone who looked at him like he was worthless, who treated him like dirt, who couldn't see past the Darkenesse he couldn't escape. Merrin could fly away...

Disappear.

Go away.

Leave.

Forever.

At least, for as long as his legs would allow him to run for- which was generally a long while. While Merrin may not have exactly been the strongest looking guy in the Castle, he had amazing stamina. He could run for hours, faster than anyone he knew. When he needed to blow off steam, he would run. Just run. He never knew where to, but somehow his legs took him to the same place every time.

The North Lookout Tower.

Somehow, looking out at the lands beyond the Castle walls comforted Merrin. Just peering into the Forest, or past the Mountains, or over at the Sheeplands. Wherever he looked, he just felt calm. It was the only place in the Castle where he could think, for he had outgrown his "Secret Place" in the Palace wainscoting after Barney Pott had ratted on him for stealing Aunt Zelda's Safecharm when he was thirteen. The place had been discovered and was now used as a storage place for the Heap family's books.

And they had a lot of books.

Merrin had been annoyed at first, having lost the only place in the Castle where he could retreat to with no fear of being discovered. But after he had started running to clear his head and discovered the Lookout, he was glad to be rid of it. Plus, there was no danger of getting locked in now. The Lookout Tower was for the public, but since there were so many stairs, it was rarely visited. And it never got dark up there, for the morning sun hit it first, and a gas lamp was lit every night.

It was Merrin's favorite place.

Climbing steadily up the stairs, smiled to himself. The Lookout Tower had the added bonus of being one of the highest vantage points in the Castle. For anyone who might've had an illogical fear of heights, it wasn't the ideal place to go.

In short, no chances of being bothered by that pig-headed idiot who had stolen his name.

None at all.

Merrin reached the top of the staircase, breathing a little hard. Stretching his muscles and waiting for his heart rate to return to normal, he crossed to the window that looked out over the Forest. Merrin leaned on his forearms and let the morning wind toss his thick dark hair this way and that. He closed his eyes, enjoying the breeze.

He could stay here forever.

He really could.

Just looking out at the lands beyond the Castle, dreaming of places to travel.

Just dreaming…

* * *

_A boy and girl sat in the dirt under a huge tree, gazing up at the sky. A Hawk was circling above them, riding the invisible currents of the wind and cawing to it's mate. The boy and girl sat, content, next to each other. _

_"I wish i could fly." the boy murmured up to the sky._

_"Me too."_

_"Just to be able to look down on whoever you wanted to, and they would have no idea, you know? You could sneak up on anyone..."_

_"Hmm..." the girl thought about that. "I never thought of it that way..."_

_"No? What did you think of then?"_

_"Freedom."_

_The word took the boy by surprise. He had thought her free already._

_"Aren't you free, then?"_

_The girl was silent for a while. "There are many meanings to the one word, Merrin. In some ways, yes I am."_

_"What about the other ways?"_

_"No. Not yet."_

_The boy looked at her in confusion, she seemed to him that she knew something that he hadn't yet learned... and perhaps never would. _

_Wise, he had heard it called. But the boy knew that what she was could never be summed up in a simple word. _

_She was a mystery to him, and he loved her for that._

_"If you could fly... would you take me with you?"_

_"Depends. Would you want to come?"_

_"Of course I would. I wouldn't let you go somewhere without me, you'd get lost!"_

_The boy scoffed in mock indignation and pushed her slightly, making her grin and laugh._

_Oh how he loved that laugh. Contagious and full of promise, something that he had always been told was lacking in his life._

_Suddenly, the laugh disappeared, replaced with a mysterious thoughtfulness._

_"Will you fly with me, Merrin?"_

_"Fly? How can we possibly fly? It's impossible!"_

_The girl laughed again._

_"Impossible? There you're wrong."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Merrin, anything's possible! The word itself confirms it, see?"_

_In the ground before them, she drew the word. But not as Merrin knew it. _

_The word as she drew it looked colorful somehow, colored with light and a promise of forever._

_**I'm Possible**._

_"You see, Merrin? We can fly!"_

_The boy laughed then, a joyous sound that he himself was not used to._

_"Yes, yes i suppose we can!"_

_

* * *

_

Merrin jolted awake at the sound of the clock tower's chimes. For a moment, he was confused. Where on earth was he? He leapt up and looked around.

How had he gotten to the Lookout Tower? The last thing that he remembered was...

He had been early for work, so he had gone for a run to the Lookout Tower and had been looking out one of the windows when…

Wait a second.

What time _was_ it?

Panicked, Merrin counted the chimes.

6..7..8..9..10..11..12!

_12 o 'clock! _

"CRAP!" Merrin yelped and raced down the stairs of the tower, out into the street, which had now become crowded with people. He dodged past them, muttering a long string of colorful language as he sprinted all the way to the Wizard Way. He was so late!

Little did Merrin know that at that moment, a pretty girl with mismatched eyes was had just passed through the North Gate…

_"Now will you fly with me, Merrin?"_

_"Anything's possible, right?"_

_"Anything."

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**Will Merrin be meeting his dream girl after all? Maybe... maybe not.**

**Keep reading to find out!**

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	5. Myrian's Promise

**Chapter 5: Myrian's Promise**

**The (hopefully) long-awaited next chapter is here! Thanks to all for reading!**

**Thanks especially to Ava Phoenixia, for always reviewing every chapter. I appreciate it, love! :D**

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Soon enough, Wren staggered onto the Wizard Way, dodging people and animals alike. She stole along the street until she had almost reached the end of the Way, and stopped dead, her eyes wide as front of her, rising up into the sky, was a huge tower. It was made out of the whitest marble and different colored windows decorated the many floors. At the very top of the tower there was a gold prism, shining so bright that it hurt to look at it. There was an air of mystery around the tower, and Wren was both in awe and terrified at the same time. She could practically hear the buzz of ancient spells and charms, the sound of **Magyk.**

_The Wizard Tower_

"So you've seen the Wizard Tower, hm?" Someone chuckled, causing Wren to jump and whirl around. She was staring at a tall, lean man with honey-colored hair, smiling green eyes, and he spoke with the lilting accent of the Castle. He looked down at her in a friendly manner, like he was used to people loitering in his doorway, just staring at the fabled Wizard Tower. Wren relaxed, he looked friendly enough.

She risked a smile in his way, "Yes, it's…beautiful.

The man grinned, "It is, isn't it? Great place to set up shop, you know? You get foreigners around here all the time, staring at the Wizard Tower with the same expression you had just now. Make great customers, foreigner's do."

Wren smiled and nodded as if she understood, so her first impression had been correct.

He leaned on his doorway, smiling warmly, "Welcome to Bot's Second-hand Wizard Cloak Shop. Can I help you?"

Wren jolted, so this was Mr. Bot. "Um, actually yes. I've come from…" she pointed her thumb in the direction of the Forest, biting her lip slightly. She wasn't really used to people - men, to be exact – so she fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze.

Mr. Bot looked at the girl before him. To his surprise - for he had been expecting one of the older Witches- she couldn't have been more than sixteen. She was obviously not used to the Castle antics, nor having so many people around her, for she jumped at every shout like an animal listening for a predator.

"Ahh.. come inside." Mr. Bot led her in, and Wren followed, if a bit cautiously. "Don't be afraid, we won't hurt you."

"I'm not afraid." She quipped, frowning in indignation, "it's simply-"

"Easy, easy on, girl." Mr. Bot turned to her, smiling kindly, "I meant no offense, but you're with friends here. I owed Morwenna a favor, anyway. She's helped me out more times than I want to admit."

That didn't surprise Wren. She had been alive long enough to know of Morwenna's multiple _rendezvous _with many of the Castle men. One of which being Silas Heap, seventh son of Benjamin Heap, a renowned shapeshifter. When Morwenna had been saved by Silas Heap, he had made her promise not to attack the Castle anymore. She had agreed, until, of course, 4 years ago, when Silas' youngest son and daughter had disrespected her and her Coven. The promise was dropped, and the Wendrons resumed robbing travelers of their goods...

"So…" he looked at her snapping her out of her reverie, "Exactly how old are you…?"

"Wren." Wren supplied "and this is my sixteenth summer."

"Ah, so you are young Witch then." Mr. Bot nodded as if he understood. "But if you are so young, then why would she send you on a journey that she could have had and older Witch take?" He was frowning, his eyes clouded with concern. Wren was taken aback, why would he care about her?

Suddenly, two dirty, laughing children came running into the shop, one of them knocking Mr. Bot to the floor in excitement.

"Daddy!" the little girl squealed, giggling.

The other, a boy, stood back and smiled down at him. "Dad! We were waving at the Manuscriptorium scribes in the window, and they were pulling funny faces at us! They're funny! Do you think we could ask them to play?"

Mr. Bot laughed, kissing the little girl on the cheek and getting up. He ruffled the boy's hair, which was the same honey-color as his own, smiling down at him. "I bet they are. They're also very smart, and they have a job to do. So I'm sure they'd play with you once they're done."

The children nodded, smiling, then they noticed Wren. She had been grinning at the children, for they reminded her of the youngest Witches of the Coven. The boy was looking at her warily, but the little girl ran straight up to her and bombarded her with questions.

"Hi! Who are you? Are you going to be my sister? I'd like that, cuz boys smell bad."

"Hey!" the boy objected.

Mr. Bot laughed, "Jon, Aimee, this is Wren. She will be staying with us for a while. Wren, this is Jonathon and Aimee." He looked at the children seriously, "She's new to the Castle, so I'm leaving up to the two of you to show her around. Be nice to her, and she'll be nice to you." He looked up at Wren, "I'm leaving you in the care of the two best tour guides in the Castle. You're in very capable hands." He smiled at them all, then took Wren's bag and walked upstairs.

For a moment Wren and the kids just stared at each other. Then Aimee grinned, "Come on then!" She took her hand in her small one and led her outside, Jon following close behind.

* * *

It was the afternoon, and the Way had cleared up a bit as everyone went back for lunch, so they were able to walk next to each other down the road. As they did so, Wren studied the both of them, smiling softly. Aimee had her honey hair in pigtails and skipped merrily along the cobblestone street, laughing and singing merrily. She looked at everything with the excited adoration that could only be found in a child, Wren thought, and drank up the world she was born in like one starved for water. Jon, on the other hand, was a tougher book to read. He walked like he meant it, with an air of dignity and pride. His chauvinism was starting to show, but evidently his sister didn't count as a girl, for he followed her and watched out for her without complaint. They walked like this for a while Aimee keeping the conversation going, Jon putting in a couple of words here and there. It was only when they reached the Manuscriptorium, a small building with lots of large windows and a large purple door that read "Number 13" that they stopped, Aimee pressing her small face to the glass. Wren stopped too, looking inside. Two-dozen or so scribes were hard at work, copying letters, calculations, and such.

The scribes closest to Aimee jumped slightly at the knocking, their eyes wide with surprise. Then they saw who it was and smiled slowly, waving back. This must have been a regular game with the children, for the scribes seemed to know them well.

Aimee giggled again, and breathed on the window, writing "Play with us!" in the steam.

One of them, a fair-haired scribe, shook his head regrettably and pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose, scribbling a note onto a piece of paper and putting it against the window.

_Sorry, Aimee. We have to work. But we'll play with you later._

Aimee pouted, her lower lip sticking out and her golden-brown pigtails drooping. Wren looked at the little girl and was overcome with the urge to give her a hug. Aimee looked up at her, her wizard green eyes sad, "If Foxy and the others won't play with me, who will?"

"I can play with you." Wren offered, smiling down at her.

Aimee grinned up at her, satisfied, and led her across the street. There, a troupe of travelling musicians was tuning their instruments and chatting with Jon. He said something, and the lead musician smiled and nodded.

Aimee practically tackled her brother, "Where were you Jonny? Wren said she was gonna play with us!"

Jon looked at Wren, obviously not impressed.

"She's a _girl _though." He stated incredulously.

"So am I!" Aimee exclaimed, annoyed.

"But you're my sister. She's… not." He was frowning.

"Daddy said we have to treat her like one!"

Jon scowled, and Wren smirked slightly, "It's alright, Aimee. He'll just have to deal with me, else I might just have to turn him into a..."

"A toad?" Aimee suggested, smiling wide at the prospect of being taller than her brother for once.

"Exactly." she grinned down at the boy, "and do you know how toads get turned into boys?"

"A princess!" Aimee chimed in, laughing hard and musically, "A princess has to kiss him!"

Jon's eyes widened and he stuck out his tongue like he'd eaten something disgusting. "Eurgh!"

Wren smirked triumphantly, and Aimee erupted into a shower of giggles.

The musicians had been watching this exchange with amusement, and one of them, the one who had been chatting to Jon, walked over to them.

"So who are these lovely young ladies? Your sisters?" he asked, smiling as the others tuned their instruments.

"This is Aimee, my little sister. And Wren… she's _not_ related to me." Jon grumbled, gesturing to Aimee, then to Wren, looking at the latter with grudging respect.

The musician smiled, "Pleased to meet you, ladies. I heard that you were bored, would a little dancing help, perhaps?"

Jon frowned, "Dancing? Eurgh."

The other members of the party received the offer with more enthusiasm.

"Oh! Yes please!" Aimee giggled and jumped up and down, "I love dancing!"

Wren grinned widely, "Me too."

The musician grinned, "Alrighty then!"

All at once, music started playing, and Wren twirled Aimee around in a circle, both of them laughing. The drums beat out a steady rhythm, and Wren grinned as she danced in time. She had grown up on music, **Magyk**, and dance, so she felt perfectly at home with the unfamiliar melody. Dance for her was like a home away from home. The music swirled around her, guiding her steps and opening her mind. She knew this dance as well as she knew her own voice, and the melody was easy enough to adjust to. Twirling and laughing, Wren flung out her hands as she span, going faster and faster. She believed that there was **Magyk** in dancing, she could feel it as she twirled. It was not the type of **Magyk** that she felt while using** Physik**, but it was **Magyk** all the same. She could feel it now, all around them, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and her eyes shine brightly. There was something else too, like she'd been in this place before, dancing to this same melody...

_"No, absolutely not." a dark haired boy crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest and frowned at a girl his age._

_"Oh, come on!" she laughed, spinning and whirling, "It's fun!"_

_"It may be for you, but for me it's just embarrassing!" The boy looked around him defensively, as if he expected someone to laugh at him. "There's no way I'm dancing. Especially not _here!_"_

_"You're no fun at all!" the girl teased, whirling away._

_"I am too!" he spluttered in indignation, "I... I just..don't..dance."_

By this time, a crowd had gathered around the musicians and the two dancing girls. The townspeople loved to see the young having fun, it was as entertaining for them as it was those doing it. Plus, the day was warm and everyone had places to be, so naturally they were grateful for the distraction.

One person in particular was watching Wren, captivated. His dark hair fell in his face as he pressed his hand to the Manuscriptorium window, but he didn't seem to notice; he was simply staring out at the spinning girl like a transfixed wasn't so much her looks, but the way she danced. She spun like she would never stop, dancing like she was flying, her feet barely touching the ground. It was like watching a bid taking off and soaring, the way she danced.

She looked free.

"Wow…" he murmured, softly, brushing the long, dark locks of hair out of his eyes.

There was something familiar in her, like he'd seen her before… somewhere…

_"Beeswax!" the girl told him, taking his hand and pulling him along with her as she twirled in a circle. "Anyone can! It's easy!"_

_The boy frowned, brushing his hair out of his eyes and wrenching his hand away. "Well, I don't. Plus, even if I _could, _there's no way I'd dance to _this _type of song. This is the type of music Wendrons dance to!"_

_"So what?"_

_"So I'm not dancing!"_

_"Oh come on, buddy! Live a little!"_

_"I do 'live a little', i just choose not to express it by-"_

_"Ok, ok, easy!" the girl shrugged and held up her hands in a surrender position. "I won't force you. Just it's gonna be one of those things in your life that you'll regret not doing!" she grinned deviously, hoping to convince him, but the boy just shook his head._

_"I'm fine with that. I'll just watch."_

_She shrugged, "Suit yourself. If you don't want to dance, don't." and began dancing again, throwing her hands up and gliding around as if the air itself guided her steps._

_The boy was content to simply watch her graceful steps, but he sat back and smiled softly. _

_"Maybe another time... when there's waltz music."_

Outside, Aimee was laughing as she danced. She had seen the crowd gathered around them, and being seven, adored the spotlight. She loved being the center of attention, seeing people smiling at her. It made her feel special.

And she enjoyed dancing with Wren, too. She had always wanted an older sister, someone to take her places and talk about "big-girl stuff" with her. She loved her brother, sure, but Wren was a _girl_. A _big girl_, at that. And every little girl knew that big girls are worth many boys. Plus, boys had cooties.

The crowd was laughing, grinning, and clapping in time to the music. They all enjoyed a show, and everyone seemed to be having a good time.

Everyone except a one Marcia Overstrand, ExtraOrdinary Wizard. Marcia had been walking down the Wizard Way when she had heard music. Marcia had always harbored a secret love of music, even when she was young. She knew how to play multiple instruments, and always loved a good performance. So, smiling slightly, Marcia had wandered over to the gathering crowd.

What she had seen had soured her mood a little.

In the middle of the crowd, two girls had had been dancing. The younger one had made Marcia smile, while the older one brought a slight frown to her face. She didn't know why; the girl looked all the world to be a simply country girl, a little rough around the edges perhaps, but she couldn't have been more than a country dancer in her teenaged years. But... there was something off-putting about her, Marcia thought, something almost… Witchy. And Marcia Overstrand was well known for her low opinion of Witches. Though no one else had seemed to notice, Marcia could also see, when she concentrated, the purple haze emanating from her body.

**Magyk.**

Marcia frowned.

She thought about it for a while, then decided.

Suddenly, she whirled around and walked quickly in the direction of the Wizard Tower; She was going to have a word to the Gatekeeper about the type of people he let into the Castle.

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Wren sighed softly as the music slowed, making her steps match the decreasing beat, her flight ending. Her time of freedom was retreating. With a last twirl to hold onto the feeling, she finished as the music stopped. Suddenly, she became aware of laughing and clapping. They had an audience, Wren thought, surprised and unnerved. She hadn't noticed. She looked around the crowd of people, suddenly uncomfortable, as they grinned and laughed and waved at them as Aimee giggled and waved and blew kisses back.

_"I honestly don't know how you do that." the dark haired boy shook his head._

_"What?" the girl pretended not to see the small smile on his face as he looked at her. _

_"Dance?"_

_"No. Crowds." the boy looked around at the people, who were smiling and walking away._

_"Crowd? What-?" _

_She looked around her, like seeing the crowd for the first time. "Oh gosh..."_

_The boy laughed then, taking her by the hand and trying to ignore the shock her touch always gave him. _

_"C'mon, let's get out of here."_

_The girl nodded numbly, grasping his hand and allowing him to lead her away from the prying eyes._

Huh.

The situation seemed familiar somehow. Had she been here before?

Maybe…

Wren smiled awkwardly at the crowd, not used to being the center of attention. She didn't like it very much.

Aimee seemed to enjoy it though, Wren thought, smirking and chuckling. The little girl reminded her of a few of the younger Wendrons in the Coven, forever giggling and craving attention. Aimee turned to Wren and grinned up at her, taking her hand and leading her to the edge of the crowd, towards the Manuscriptorium.

Jon was waiting for them, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and a little pride. He was leaning on the wall next to the window where Aimee had talked to the scribe. The scribes themselves had heard the music and had also been watching them dance, their faces pressed to the windows to see. As Aimee and Wren came close, they busied themselves with their calculations again, looking very studious and hardworking as a cover up for their slacking off. Plus, they had to set a good example for younger children.

Aimee giggled and flounced over to Jon, "Did you see us dance, Jonny? Weren't we good?" She did another twirl and crashed into him, giggling and staring up at him with adoring eyes.

Jon scoffed and rolled his eyes, but nonetheless he ruffled his sister's hair and hugged her. "You looked like you were having fun." He couldn't hide a tiny smile.

"We were!" Aimee readily agreed, "You should have joined us!"

Wren had barely been listening to the conversation, she was concentrating. She had a pretty decent sense of knowing when she was being Watched, as she was at the present. She looked around discreetly, as growing up in the Forest had made her wary of Watchers- you never wanted them to know that they had been tracked, you had to time it right. Sh was trying to place the Watcher, but couldn't; there was some kind of barrier around them at that moment, she couldn't get through it. Her concentration snapped, and she came back to earth when Jon scoffed again.

"Dancing's for _girls._" He said the word like an insult.

Wren smirked at him, "Do i have to turn you into a toad? Then ask the princess to kiss you?"

Jon paled, then ran, "GIRL GERMS!' he yelped over his shoulder.

Aimee squealed at the possibility of a chase, and tugging on Wren's hand, scampered after him. Wren laughed and followed the little girl, hitching up her long skirt so as not to trip as she followed.

But she still felt the Watcher's eyes on her, following her as she ran. They were burning into the back of her skull, seeming to penetrate her mind. She didn't like it. Concentrating, Wren turned her head slightly when she felt the barrier waver, and then she spied them.

Or _him _rather, by the front window of the Manuscriptorium.

A dark haired boy about her age, watching her with narrowed eyes. She stopped short as she met his dark gaze, leaving the kids to run ahead before her. There was something weird about the way he was staring at her, like he'd seen a ghost. His gaze was unnerving, but impossible to look away from. Wren frowned slightly in confusion as her breath caught in her throat; she didn't know why. Maybe it was because she had barely ever seen guys her own age? That seemed like a logical explanation...

But he didn't hold her gaze for long; his eyes quickly flickered away from hers and he disappeared.

For some reason, Wren felt the stab of disappointment. "Huh." She murmured quietly, turning away from the Manuscriptorium and back to Bertie Bot's Second Hand Wizard Cloak Shop, walking slowly towards it and absorbed in her thoughts.

There had been something weird about that boy, Wren thought, snapping back to reality. Almost angrily, she shook her head to clear it. She had a mission, and no weird looks from Castle boys were going to stop her from completing it. That was a promise that she had to make.

However, despite her promise, the boy's dark gaze stayed with her, even when she went to bed that night.

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_The Forest was a comforting place at night... for someone who knew it well. For others, the Wendron Forest was terrifying in the day time, let alone at night. Castle children loved to terrify their younger siblings with stories of the Forest at nighttime; of the hungry wolverines and their snapping jaws, the carnivorous trees that could take hold of and devour a traveler before they could blink, and, if you were really unlucky, a werewolf._

_But above all of them, stories were told of the Wendron Witches; the band of girls of multiple ages who roamed the Forest unafraid, practicing White Witch Lore, Earth Magyk, and playing the occasional Darke Trick on a passing traveler. The girls were known as thieves and scoundrels in the Castle; in reality, though, they simply wanted to exist peacefully with no intrusions._

_To dance, laugh, sing, and live in harmony with the Nature Goddess as they had done for hundreds of years. To pass down their traditions and stories to every new generation of Witches; every story and myth explaining a different part of the world._

_Especially their own existence._

_Sitting under a large oak tree in a clearing, a young woman stared up at the stars. They seemed so close, she thought, like she could walk up and touch one. She could see them up there, shining bright as beacons in the dark of the night. _

_The woman closed her eyes against the suffocating dark and allowed the cool night breeze to play with her disheveled red hair, to ruffle her dirty, ragged clothing. She could hear the trees talking in their language, whispering promises of comfort and home. The sound was relaxing, so different from the sounds she had grown used to in the past years. _

_She shuddered and hugged herself as the blood-streaked memories returned to her. Sounds of war filled her ears; screams of agony from the dying, roars of bloodlust from the attackers, cries filled with urgency, friends trying to find family, whimpers of disbelief and shock from children left parentless. The scent of blood and dust filled her nostrils, the blood of her friends, family, and neighbors, dead at the hands of those who had been their friends. _

_ No longer._

_Now, there was only fear. Only anger and intolerance in the place of happiness and understanding._

**_Why?_**

_The woman swallowed hard and gazed blankly at the fertile ground below her._

_She had made it to safety; a place where none could find her._

_But how many hadn't?_

_How many men, women, and children had perished in this past year? How many souls had fled their earthly bodies to the AfterWorld? _

She couldn't even reassure herself that families had been reunited there, she knew so many of them would still be walking her home's grounds, not able to move on. They were not free. She could hear them, even now, calling to her.

_The woman gazed at her hands, calloused and scarred and shaking. It was these hands that so many had been hunted for. These hands that so many had perished because of. _

_Because of a simple gift; a Talent._

_The woman stood, if shakily, and looked around her. She was safe here, at least, for the present. The Forest was fertile and comforting, she could survive on what it bore her. She would remain here, she decided, to tell her story to the trees and animals. To anyone who would care to listen._

_She would have descendants to pass on this story to whoever they met until it became the stuff of myth. But her daughters would know better. They would know the curse she bore, the cruelty that had been endured, the merciless killings of the innocent. They would pass this story on to the ages, down and down and down, until, once again, one would be born with her Talent._

_One who could free the spirits chained to the place where their bodies had perished._

_One who could liberate her people from the **Darkenesse** that she survived; one who would be plagued with it until they realized their destiny._

_Only then would they all be free._

_**This was Myrian's Promise.**

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**Thanks for reading! Please Rate and Review!**


	6. Licorice and Sunflowers

**Chapter 6: Licorice and Sunflowers.**

**Sorry for not posting in a while; everything has been so hectic and my head is so filled with ideas and geometry notes that I can't find places for them! A few days ago i found myself writing this story on my geometry homework- so i got the idea that someone was trying to tell me something. Anyway, school is taking over my life- i feel like i'm drowning in it. My teachers are assholes sometimes.**

**I'm kind of taking out my angst in my writing. Sorry for rambling on guys**

**So, without further ado- chapter six!**

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About the same time that Wren entered the North Gate of the Castle, Merrin Meredith was running as fast as he could up the Wizard way. This might be a good time to mention that this was not an easy task, for the Wizard Way was a veritable bee hive around noon, so much so that if every single person on that Way extended their hands upright into the air, one could be passed from hand to hand from the Wizard Tower to the Palace and arrive with enough time to feel accomplished.

But unfortunately for Merrin, no one had yet had the notion to have everyone extend their hands and pass a rather gangly boy to the big purple door of the **Magykal **Manuscriptorium and SpellCheckers Incorporated, plus, they were all too busy anyway. So Merrin was resigned to running- or squeezing, rather- past the array of folk, feeling panic welling up inside of him.

By the time he had reached his destination, Merrin was in a state of near hysteria. He charged through the door of the Manuscriptorium like the dreaded Witch Mother herself was at his heels and, making the cursed bell on the door ring as he entered, Merrin practically threw himself into his desk, panting hard and leaning back in his chair. Whatever his feelings were right then, they were most certainly _not _accomplishment.

Merrin repeated a certain four-letter curse-word under his breath and prayed that no one noticed his sudden, dramatic entrance. While waiting for his heart rate to return to normal and fighting the urge to be sick, Merrin grasped the edge of his desk so hard that his knuckles went white. Ok, so he was three hours late. That shouldn't really be a problem, scribes were late all the time! Plus, Merrin hadn't been late in ages.

Why? Two years ago, he had started caring what girls thought of him- of what _people_ thought of him. He had given up sweets - with much internal struggle - started running places, and even had made a vain attempt to be nice to people. Well, the _that_ hadn't worked, but everything else did. Above all, he had strived never to be late to anything.

Ever.

Or at least, not when he could help it...

This sudden change had impressed Jilie Djin and the rest of the scribes. They were confused by it, if a little suspicious; the dark teenager was never a favorite among the Manuscriptorium staff, never a favorite in the Castle, actually. Nevertheless, even they had to admit that he looked good. Merrin's skin had cleared up as the sweets disappeared, and his shaggy dark hair had become less oily. He was getting pretty good-looking –if you looked past the mix of hostility and distrust in his eyes and the** Darkenesse** that seemed to follow him like a shadow. Things were going so well that Merrin was even tempted to change his name back to his real name, but he knew that would cause too much drama. He simply kept the alias, "Daniel Hunter"; it made him feel intimidating. Plus, his old name was stupid, in his opinion.

When Merrin crashed in his chair, the two-dozen scribes looked up from their calculations to regard him with quizzical and disapproving looks. Merrin ignored them, he didn't need to explain anything to anyone but-

"Ah, Mr. Hunter, so nice of you to join us."

Merrin groaned inwardly and looked up, the curse word clanging in his head with even more vigor. Jilie Djin, Chief Hermetic Scribe, was frowning at Merrin, eyes narrowed. Jilie Djin was not the type of woman one would expect would hold a position of power. She was a small woman – when Merrin stood next to her he was at least a head taller than she – and could've benefitted from the loss of a few pounds. She had short mousy hair, a long, haughty face, and ordinary brown eyes. Yet, the most known of her traits was that carried herself with an air of duty and –she hoped - intimidation. It was true, she scared some of the higher-strung scribes to death (she made a few customers faint one time) and she even unnerved Merrin, who was not (as we all know) known for his sensitivity.

"I… er… um." Merrin began, stammering, but was silenced when Jilie Djin held up her hand. "I do not want to know, Mr. Hunter." She looked at him, and he was sure he saw disappointment in her eyes. Merrin felt anger stirring in his stomach. He was late once- _once_ –in two years and now it was like he had committed a felony. The scribes had been late _a lot_ before! They weren't lectured!

"Return to your work, but Mr. Hunter," Jilie Djin looked at him, frowning, "Be late again, and you might just find yourself back in the Vaults, or worse- without a job." With that, she turned and disappeared back into her office. Merrin scowled and flung himself back into his chair, muttering nasty things under his breath and seriously considering **hexing** her.

Merrin may have cleaned himself up, but he had not lost his bad attitude.

Merrin was in the middle of an internal rant involving all the nasty things that could be done to Jilie Djin involving all manner of wild animals (Jilie Djin _hated _wild animals) when he heard a rapping noise. He jolted and turned to the window next to him. There, a boy of about ten was smirking and waving at him. Behind him, a little girl – she must have been his sister, for they both had the same honey-colored hair – was standing, trembling and staring at Merrin with wide, scared green eyes

Merrin had seen these kids before, they came to the Manuscriptorium regularly on errands for their father, Bertie Bot. Mr. Bot owned Bot's Second-hand Wizard Cloak Shop across the street from the Manuscriptorium. He had inherited it from his father, apparently, and he ran the shop with his wife. Merrin saw his two kids often, racing each other up and down the Wizard Way, laughing and dancing and playing. Sometimes they came up to the windows of the Manuscriptorium to pull faces at the Scribes and ask them to play with them.

Merrin had never been asked to play before, and he knew that was because the little girl – Aimee, he thought her name was – had been scared of him ever since he had sneered and snapped at her over the counter a couple of years ago. In his defense, she had been bugging him mercilessly beforehand, and she had tried his patience. But when he saw the little girl's terrified green eyes staring at him through the window, he couldn't help feeling a little guilty. He hadn't meant to scare her... just to get her off his back.

The boy – Merrin couldn't remember his name – didn't mind him. In fact, Jon Bot thought Merrin was pretty cool. They shared a love of licorice.

Foxy, a tall, fair-haired scribe who was prone to fainting spells, was a favorite of the kids, Merrin knew. They often asked him to play. Partridge and Romily were often asked for too. But never him.

Which was why he was surprised when the boy rapped on the window, pulling faces at him and grinning. The little girl was clinging to her brother, tugging on his sleeve to get his attention and risking a sideways glance at Merrin when she thought he wasn't looking, but her brother was too busy pulling faces at Merrin to notice.

For a moment, Merrin was offended. He considered glaring at the kid and telling him, through the glass, to get lost. But then he looked at the little girl's terrified eyes, feeling guilt well up in him again, so Merrin smirked slightly, and poked out his tongue at him. The boy smirked back and mimicked him.

They spent maybe five minutes pulling faces at each other, until the little girl got bored and jumped on the boy, pulling his hair. The boy cried out I surprise and managed to shake her off. Then she ran away, laughing. The boy turned away from the window, racing after her. Merrin's eyes followed them to their father's shop, a small, three story building with bay windows at the front and clothes in the display, where they disappeared.

Merrin felt a little lonely after that. He had rather enjoyed playing with the boy, even if the little girl was terrified of him. Being Apprenticed to DomDaniel, Merrin hadn't had the chance to play with other kids, and he felt as if he'd missed out when he saw them playing. But he'd had fun then, even if it was only pulling funny faces. Still, after they left, Merrin couldn't help feeling foolish. Used, even.

With a resigned sigh and a frown, Merrin resumed the work that he was supposed to be doing- calculations for the Castle Infirmary's stock. Until he heard the rapping again. He looked up hopefully, in spite of himself. No. Not his window this time. He poked his head around the corner of the front office, looking into the room where the scribes worked. A chuckle came from Foxy's desk, and Merrin saw the fair-haired scribe wave at the little girl, who was jumping up and down and grinning. Her brother was with her too, smiling. Merrin couldn't help feeling a little jealous. What was so good about Foxy; what did he have that Merrin didn't?

In truth, Foxy had quite a bit in his favor- especially where girls and little kids were concerned. But the tall young man was painfully shy, preferring to smile and watch through smoky windows rather than be a part of life. At that moment though, Merrin wasn't in the mood to be fair. He narrowed his eyes and swallowed the nasty feeling he got. Then he noticed something. Someone else was with the little kids, standing a little back from them and looking around. Merrin couldn't see them clearly, but he was sure that she was a girl. A teenaged girl at that, maybe his age?

"Wow." Merrin huffed under his breath, "Since when did Foxy get popular with girls?" Here went the jealousy again.

Before he could get a closer look, the little girl breathed on the glass, fogging it up, and wrote a message on it. It was backwards, so it took Merrin a moment to decipher, but he thought it said : "Play with us!"

For a moment, Foxy looked like he might, but then Jilie Djin's voice rang out through the Manuscriptorium, reminding them all that their calculations were due in a couple of days – which was not a lot of time in a Scribe's world. Merrin leapt back into his desk and pretended to be doing his work for a while, long enough for him to be sure that the CHS wasn't coming back out, then poked his head back around the corner.

The girl, her brother, and the possible teenaged girl were gone, but the fog from the little girl's breath was still on the window. Merrin blinked, then turned to Foxy and watches as he sighed, then frowned slightly, muttering something about calculations giving him nightmares. Then Partridge tapped on his desk, smiling slightly. Partridge was about the same age as Foxy, but a little shorter and better built. He had soft brown eyes and a smile that made him look like he knew something that everyone else didn't, he was practically Jilie Djin's second in command, and everyone in the Manuscriptorium liked him.

Merrin couldn't stand him.

Partridge, unaware of the waves of dislike coming his way, nudged the taller man and grinned.

"Hey Foxy, was that Aimee?"

"Yeah, she wanted me to play with her again." Foxy smiled, unable to hide his amusement.

Romily, one of the only female scribes, giggled quietly. Romily was a small woman with a feminine figure, a little younger than Partridge and Foxy. Her curly gold hair fell around her shoulders, framing her pretty face. She had warm yellowy eyes and a sprinkling of freckles beneath them, and was known around the Manuscriptorium for her beautiful curly handwriting and wicked sense of humor. Romily was not above laughing, something that the scribes did not hear often in their workspace, and even Merrin didn't mind her that much. Being one of the only female scribes had it's advantages though, and Romily's desk was always crowded with presents on Valentines Day, much to the annoyance of Partridge, who had a bit of a thing for her.

"She's adorable." Romily cooed, perching daintily on the edge of Foxy's desk. "She really is. Sometimes I just want to take her and dunk her in my coffee!" she added, hugging herself.

Partridge looked at her, smiling in a smitten way, "Well I'm sure there are others who feel that way about you." From his seat, Foxy coughed "Partridge" into his sleeve.

Romily laughed and winked at Partridge, "You're cute." She teased, "But I might break your teapot."

"Ouch." Foxy snickered, and Partridge smirked.

Merrin's lip curled into an ugly sneer and he rolled his eyes, turning his head away from the scene like the feeling was infectious. He didn't get love. How a stupid emotion could people go all mushy and weird was beyond his understanding. Valentines Day was the one day that Merrin thought was completely useless; a day for people to make fools out of themselves by singing and declaring love to others, giving chocolates, roses. Ugh.

Love. Pfffft. It was definitely not for him. No way. Never understood it, wasn't interested in it, and didn't want to go anywhere near it-

Nevertheless, Merrin tried to shove the thought of his dream girl out of his mind. What type of flowers would she like? Did she like chocolate? No, she'd be a licorice eater, like him. He'd give her a bottle of licorice snakes for Valentines Day, licorice and... sunflowers! Sunflowers were nice, plus, roses were overrated...

"Hey, do you guys hear the music?" Romily smiled, doing a little twirl and clicking her fingers to the beat.

Merrin clenched his teeth as Romily's voice jolted him out of his reverie. He felt foolish- again. What did it matter what type of flowers or candy she liked? He was never going to meet her anyway, he told himself, he shouldn't care.

But he did.

"Yeah, actually. I think it's that band across the street-"

Foxy was interrupted by Partridge laughing, "Isn't that Aimee dancing over there?"

Romily walked over to the windows, peering out, "….Yeah! Awww. She's so cute- hey, who's that with her?"

As one, all the scribes pressed their faces to the window, Merrin, out of simple curiosity, did the same. And almost fell over.

Across the street, a band of gypsies were playing an upbeat tune on their many, unfamiliar instruments. One of the musicians was beating out a rhythm that made Merrin's feet tap in time. Another, a woman with dark hair in a headscarf, was tapping a tambourine and smiling. True, he saw that Aimee was dancing in front of them, laughing and spinning, her honey hair flying out around her. Her little red dress was billowing out around her as she skipped, and she wore a smile as she danced, obviously loving the spotlight.

But he wasn't looking at Aimee.

Across from her, another girl was dancing, her hands flung out above her head, her long patched skirt flowing around her. It was the girl at the window, Merrin realized. His first impression of her had been correct, she was about his age, with long brown hair that hung just a little above her waist and framed her thin, impish face. Her lithe and limber figure swayed and twirled and she danced like she'd been doing it her whole life. She was smiling as Aimee was, laughing as she spun the little girl around.

He gazed at her with rapt attention, captivated by the way she was dancing. She spun like she would never stop, dancing like she was flying, her feet barely touching the ground.

She looked free.

"Wow…" he murmured, pressing his hand against the window and not seeming to notice as his dark hair fell in his face.

A crowd had gathered around the dancing girls, but Merrin could still see them, spinning and dancing and laughing like they had not a care in the world. The bright clothes the older girl wore looked a little out of place against the muted clothes of the growing crowd. She reminded Merrin of those colorful birds that DomDaniel had kept, the ones with the rainbow-colored feathers and huge wings that allowed them to fly. Those birds had always fascinated him, they had looked so out of place in the darkness of his master's lair. Merrin had always wondered where they had come from…

Merrin snapped back to reality as he heard the crowd clap. The music was slowing down, and the girls slowed their dancing until they came to a standstill as the music stopped. Aimee was waving and blowing kisses to the audience, soaking up the attention like a sponge. It made Merrin smile in spite of himelf. She flung herself at the older girl – who seemed to have just noticed the crowd – and wrapped her arms around her waist in a hug. The older girl smiled slightly, but Merrin could tell she was on edge. Her eyes kept darting around the crowd and she fidgeted slightly.

Not used to crowds? He wondered, still watching her and suddenly discovering that his face was practically pressed against the window and that some of the scribes her snickering at him. Merrin's face burned with embarrassment and he glared at the snickering scribes, who had pointedly gone back to work.

When he turned back to the window, he saw Aimee taking the older girl by the hand and leading her away from the circle, towards the Manuscriptorium.

Merrin noticed this and lurched back, pushing himself roughly from the window. He didn't want to be caught staring like some idiot! But he misjudged the strength of his push and the next thing he knew he was on the floor, staring at the ceiling. The scribes, who Merrin noticed at been watching the dance, had heard the crash and came quickly.

For a moment Merrin thought they might be concerned about him. Had they come running to see if he was ok? But no. One look on their disapproving faces and he had his answer.

"Be careful, woulja, Daniel?" Partridge sighed, shaking his head. "You could break something in here!"

With that, the rest of the scribes walked away, muttering something about him and breaking things. Merrin scowled. He felt like an idiot. Why couldn't anyone just… just _care? _Just _once!_

Angrily, Merrin kicked his chair back upright, putting his desk to rights and muttering darkly under his breath. He crossed to the window, leaning against the wall and glaring out at the passers-by. After the dance, they had all gone back to work, but the musicians were still playing merrily, chatting to the mothers who were watching over their children as they played in the streets.

Watching the mothers, Merrin thought of his own mother in the Port. He had never met her, nor even been to the Port for that matter, but he had heard Aunt Zelda, the White Witch and Keeper of Draggen Island, talk of her once or twice when he was staying with her.

She lived in the Port, he knew, and apparently ran a hotel there. Merrin looked at the mothers and their children again; would his own mother welcome him so warmly? Or would she….

Merrin shook his head firmly to get rid of those thoughts; he didn't need a mother. He was almost seventeen–well, he thought, anyway- too old for needing a mother.

Nonetheless, Merrin weighed up the possibility of seeing her, he supposed it couldn't hurt…

No.

The woman had done nothing for him, absolutely nothing. Why should he have to take time out of his day to see someone who probably wouldn't even care? Why should he? It's not like he cared, and it's not like she would either.

Still...

"Did you see us dance, Jonny?" A young, excited voice called, giggling. "Weren't we good?"

Merrin looked up, temporarily distracted. The boy who had been pulling faces at him earlier was standing next to his window, looking nonchalant as Aimee jumped up and down happily.

The boy- Jonny- scoffed, but ruffled his sister's hair. "You looked like you were having fun."

"We were!" Aimee giggled, "You should've joined us!"

"Eurgh!" he exclaimed, shaking his head, "Dancing's for _girls!"_

He spat the word out like an insult and Merrin smiled in spite of himself as he watched the conversation like a spectator. He was used to listening into others' conversations- especially ones that did not concern him. Back when he was DomDaniel's apprentice, that was basically the only way he got to hear a human voice that wasn't yelling at him.

"Hey," a new voice called, an obvious smirk in it. Merrin looked up from the kids and blinked. The girl that he was watching before, the one who was flying, was standing at his window, looking down at Jonny with a smirk. Merrin stared at her, taking her features in through the glassy window. Her impish face was tanned in a way that showed that spent a lot of time outside. From what he could see, her eyes were a bright, mischievous green. She was pretty enough to be pleasing, but in no way beautiful like the Princess of the Castle. Still, there was something about her that was... interesting.

"Should i turn you into a toad? That way the Princess would have to kiss you." She smirked down at Jonny

Merrin smirked in spite of himself as the younger boy visibly paled and an expression of disgust spread across his face. But he saw slight amusement in his green eyes, so he must've been enjoying this.

"GIRL GERMS!" he yelped, taking off down the road faster than a jackrabbit. Aimee squealed at the possibility of a chase, and tugging on the older girl's hand, scampered after him. The older girl laughed and followed the little girl, hitching up her long skirt so as not to trip as she followed. Merrin watched her go, interested, then shook his head in irritation. People his age were all so immature.

But he couldn't help but look back at her, his eyes following her as she chased the children. Her feet barely touched the ground, he thought, frowning. Her gait was familiar somehow…

Suddenly, the girl turned her head around and looked straight at him. Merrin gasped out loud as he met her eyes. What he had thought to be Wizard green eyes were actually nothing of the sort. Her eyes were mismatched- one the familiar bright green of the wizards, the other... the brilliant blue of the witches. His heart pounded as he stared into them, remembering what DomDaniel had told him about ones with different eyes.

Half-blood eyes. Traitor eyes.

Out of old habit, he looked away. Merrin had never liked meeting anyone's eyes- it always made him feel like they were interrogating him. His heart was still beating fast, and after telling himself he was being an idiot, he looked back.

But the girl was already gone, leaving Merrin feeling even more foolish.

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**AN: Thanks for reading! **

**Oh Merrin, you're such an angsty teen. :)**

**I really appreciate how much you guys fave, but if you could take a couple of minutes out of your time to leave a comment, that would be great! I really value your thoughts, and am always open for new ideas! So please, i love that you guys like the story, but PLEASE review! **

**Thank you to those who review every chapter, i really appreciate it! :D**


	7. The Meeting

**Disclaimer: I am not English- I'm an Aussie- therefore, not Angie Sage. (English accents rock though)**

**Author's Note: I am so sorry it has taken so long to post again- I have been so incredibly busy with everything, and now i have exams in a couple of weeks. Procrastination is the best, but it is a gross habit to break. I am so thankful to everyone who constantly faves and reviews, you guys are my angels, seriously. This chapter is dedicated to It's All In Your Mind- thanks for the help in everything, love. You are simply amazing! Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving and didn't get run over by mad-shoppers on Black Friday. :)**

* * *

The next few days were a headache for Wren, to say the very least.

Having lived in the Wendron Forest her entire life, she was not used to the hustle and bustle of the Castle and it's people. For the first few weeks, Wren would jump at every shout and yell that she heard and pin herself against the nearest wall. Most people found this relatively amusing and thought nothing of it, but Wren did receive her fair share of odd looks when she did this.

One of the many things that Wren would have to get used to was a wake-up-call.

Every morning at precisely 7: 30 am, the clock tower on the Wizard Way chimed rather loudly, loud enough to be heard from even Sally Mullin's Tea and Ale House, which was quite a way away. It was as if the clock tower was warning all the inhabitants of the Castle that they had to get up and have breakfast, for there was work to be done. Years ago, some rather grumpy resident of the Castle got tired of the 7:30 chime, so he had stormed up the winding steps of the clock tower, intent on resetting this clock. Yet somehow, the man never made it to the clock, he suffered a nasty accident from falling down the stairs, and died from the impact. To that day, Castle children would gleefully recount this event, each time a different cause of this man's death. A certain Erik Heap was partial to a version of death by a three-headed monster with pointed teeth and seven legs, but Sarah Heap had prohibited this particular version for fear of scaring her younger children. Nonetheless, Erik managed to terrify his younger siblings with this monster to the point that they avoided the clock tower altogether, for fear of this horrible monster jumping out the window and attacking them- as it was rather fond of children. Still, even adults avoided the clock tower, for none of them wanted to end up like the grumpy resident; and so the wake-up-call stayed.

Before journeying to the Castle, Wren had been lucky; she was far enough away from the clock tower that she and the Wendrons escaped the droning noise in the mornings, thus were granted an uninterrupted, peaceful sleep-in. Wren wasn't generally awake until noon, as was custom in the Forest, but this was going to change soon enough.

When the clock tower chimed on her very first morning in the Castle, Wren almost had a heart attack. Nothing in the Forest made the chiming noise of the clock tower, and thus she had never heard anything like it. So Wren, like the half-asleep Wendron Witch she was, gathered she was being attacked and did the only thing one can really do in that type of situation. She leapt out of her teepee-, which had suddenly gotten much higher off the ground and a lot larger- and ran out the door. Or tried to.

The blankets got in the way, winding their around Wren's legs and the next thing Wren knew, she was lying facedown on the cold wooden floor of her room in Bertie Bott's house. It took a moment to orient herself, in which she realized that she was no longer in the Forest nor in her teepee, and that she had fallen from her bed in a panic. She took deep breaths and tried to calm herself, yet it wasn't long before she heard quick footsteps padding across the floor to her door, which was flung open to reveal the concerned face of Mr. Bott.

"Wren? Are you alright?" Mr. Bott leaned down and helped Wren up, green eyes concerned.

"Wh-what was that?" Wren was breathing quickly, her fear subsiding as quickly as it had sprung.

A smile of amusement broke over the man's face, and he laughed softly. "The clock tower, Wren. It tells us what time it is by chiming." Seeing Wren's amazement, he laughed louder, "Don't worry. There is nothing wrong- we're all fine."

Wren managed a smile and shook her head at her own idiocy, "I hope I won't act this way in the future."

"As do I." a disapproving voice chimed in, and both Mr. Bott and Wren looked up.

"Darling," Mr. Bott sighed, "Wren is not used to the customs of the Castle, she just needs time."

"Well I certainly hope she gets used to it sooner rather than later," The woman at the door quipped irritably, "I don't intend to be woken by a loud crash every morning, and I don't think the neighbors will either."

Tabitha Bott was quite an impressive woman. She was short and shapely, with short, frizzy red hair that she had tied back with a white scarf. She showed close resemblance to her cousin, Sally Mullin, and also shared her skill at cooking. Like her husband and children, she flaunted the striking green eyes of a wizard family, but unlike her husband, she didn't have the easy smile that he was known for. Her mouth was generally in a tight line of no-nonsense, which contrasted with her otherwise gentle appearance.

She didn't approve of Wren much, either. Tabitha, like Sarah Heap and Marcia Overstrand, had a very distinct view of Witches: A complete waste of space. Yet, like Sarah Heap, she put up with them simply because of the debt her husband owed to the Wendrons, and same went for Wren's presence. But she didn't have to like it, and made that very clear to her from the first moment Wren had walked in the house. "She's a tough one, Tabitha." Bertie Bott had commented quietly to Wren, "But she is really a good woman at heart." As much as she wanted to believe so, Wren took another look at this scowling woman and found it hard to believe anything positive.

"Breakfast is ready, come quickly if you want it hot." And with that, Tabitha swept from the room, leaving her husband behind to make excuses for her rather curt behavior.

* * *

Much to Tabitha's distaste, Wren continued to fall out of bed in a panic at the sound of the chiming. She did it for a week, until, at the end of her patience, Tabitha threatened to send Wren right back to where she had come. There had been a lot of protest following this comment, mainly from Aimee, who had taken an immediate liking to Wren and considered her an older sister. She had clung to Wren's leg like a little terrier, sobbing and pleading until at last her mother had relented, on the condition that there would be no strange reactions from the young Witch.

So she wouldn't get up to too much mischief, also to take her off the hands of his less-than-patient wife, Bertie Bott kept Wren working in his shop as his assistant, running errands of different sorts, setting up clothes, and just doing the odd job. Wren was quite happy with this, for she was quite bored with sitting around the house with nothing to do (and everyone knows having a bored Witch in the house is in no way a good thing) and it gave her the chance to meet the people of the Castle on her many errands.

It was on one of these errands that she met him.

Wren walked out of the shop, closing the door behind her and clutching a list in her hand. Her long hair was tied back into a ponytail and she was wearing a pair of muted green trousers, an off-white blouse, and a sturdy pair of sandals. She knew Tabitha disapproved of her love of trousers- they made a teenaged girl look like a boy- but Wren thought they were practical and much easier to work in.

She stretched like a cat and strolled out into the Wizard Way, looking over the list of things she had to pickup. She let out a low whistle as she studied a particular passage; _Manuscriptorium- pick up fabric import, make appointment with CHS, extra quills. _Under the passage in underlined letters, there were three words. _Job Application, Wren?_

Wren smirked, a job then? Sounded good to her. Maybe there was a vacant job as a physician… or something like that. With a smile and a suddenly quicker gait, Wren made her way to the Manuscriptorium.

* * *

Merrin Meredith was in a foul mood.

As usual, his dreams had been filled with the screams of this wild girl, the **Darknesse** swarming around her like a hive of angry bees while he was chained to the ground, useless. These dreams had been worse that night, and thus Merrin had gotten little sleep. There were dark bags under his haunted eyes, making them look even darker than usual. His hair was a mess, dark bangs falling over his face and sticking up so haphazardly that it closely resembled a rat's nest, and his skin was plaer than usual.

In short, Merrin was a complete mess.

When he had walked into the Manuscriptorium that morning, Partridge, who was taking over for Ms. Djin in her rare two-hour absences, had pounced on him with demands for this and that. It was clear that, for the two hours until Jilie Djin came back, Partridge was going to make Merrin's life a living hell- and he was going to enjoy it immensely. So, for the last hour and a half, Merrin had been wandering around the Manuscriptorium on the many "errands" that Partridge had ordered him on, all the time trying to keep it together.

So thus, on top of the fact that he had had a terrible night and had torn his only cloak that actually fit, Merrin was an active volcano about to erupt.

He sat in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, clicking his fingers and watching as a small black flame shimmered in and out of existence, a scowl on his face. The small black flame danced tauntingly across his palm, hovered in front of his nose, and danced across the parchment of calculations that he was supposed to fill out- another of Partridge's errands- leaving a trail of green smoke in it's wake. Merrin scowled again, and cupped the flame in his hands, holding it there like he was afraid it would escape.

He was so interested in this flame that he barely noticed the door of the Manuscriptorium open, and ignored the irritable clicking noise of the Customer Counter- a new invention. It was probably Jilie Djin back from her two-hour seance, nothing really important. He went back to his calculations, sighing in annoyance. It was only when the new comer cleared their throat that Merrin even bothered to look up.

"What?" He snapped, glaring at the customer - for Merrin really had no regard for the courtesy a scribe must show a customer. The moment he laid eyes on them, though, he practically choked.

A girl with long brown hair and trousers was regarding him quizzically, brow raised and arms crossed like his. Her angular face was tilted slightly to the right, as if in question, and her eyes- which were the half-blood eyes he had seen before- were confused. Apart from the trousers, which Merrin found somewhat odd, he was almost positive that she was the girl that he had seen dancing a few days ago. Merrin felt his throat dry up, much to his annoyance, and he felt an unpleasant warmth crawl up his neck. He swore under his breath; he had never been good with girls, that was everyone else's thing, not his. Why did _he_, of all people, have to serve a girl, especially one his age? Why couldn't Partridge, or even Foxy? He didn't even know how to _talk _to a girl! So why should he-

"Hello." She said, jolting him out of his mental panic-attack. She seemed pleasant enough, but Merrin could only nod in answer until he gathered enough sense to scowl and stand up.

"What d'you want?" he demanded of her, arms crossed and chin stuck out.

"I believe that a parcel came in for Bertie Bott?" The girl inquired, brows raised.

"Who wants to know?" Merrin sneered, hardly in the mood for pleasantries.

"His assistant does."

"Who, _you?_"

"Yes. Me."

Merrin's brows raised "I didn't know that he had an assistant. And I didn't think he'd take a _girl _if he did." suspicion tinged his voice, which sounded, at that moment, remarkably like Jon Bott.

The girl chose to ignore that remark, taking a deep breath before answering. "I am helping out Mr. Bott, and have orders to collect this parcel." she waited a beat before continuing, "If i remember correctly, a Scribe is supposed to help a customer, or am I wrong?"

"Hmph." Merrin scowled again, and holding his head high and trying to retain his dignity before turning and fetching what she requested. With a rather nasty look, he handed it to her.

_Idiotic, know-it-all, b-_

Wren Ellawyn could successfully say that she had never met a more unpleasant boy in her entire life, even though this wasn't saying much for a Wendron Witch. The boy in front of her was tall and lanky, with long dark hair that looked like it could house a couple of mice. His uniform was unkempt and his expression resembled someone who had come across something rather disgusting, but his face... It was so _familiar!_ His face was angular and his skin was very pale- almost unhealthy-, and his eyes... they were what unnerved her the most. Dark, dark grey with flecks of green in them, and filled with horrible memories and encounters that haunted him. The dark bags under his eyes were so pronounced that Wren got the feeling that he hadn't slept properly in weeks, and that, much to her own discomfort, made her yearn to help him.

_Maybe Lavender would help..._

She found herself thinking potions and herbs again as she took the parcel he offered and bagged it, thanking him quietly,

_Willow bark too, for dreams..._

"Anything else?" he growled petulantly, snapping Wren out of her herb-filled thoughts and back to reality. This boy didn't want her help.

"Yes, actually. I would like to see the Chief Hermetic Scribe." She informed him, trying to remain calm.

"Well, she's out. _I'm_ in charge."

"Alright then, I would like an appointment to see her then, as soon as possible."

"What!" Wren swore that the boy's eyes bulged, "Why on earth would _you _want to see _her?" _

"That is none of _your _business, if I may say so." She spat, her tone mimicking his own as met his heated glare with her own.

_Chauvinistic, ungrateful little-_

_Incorrigible, self-absorbed girl._

Merrin leaned over his desk, hoping to look as intimidating as humanly possible. He couldn't believe he had been staring at... _her._ He had made a fool of himself those days ago because he was looking at _her! _The very thought made his face burn with embarrassment and anger. She may've looked alright when she was dancing, but in fact, she was the exact opposite. Hard to deal with, know-it-all, self-centered; she was impossible!

"Well, actually, since I'm the Front Office Clerk, it kind of is _my _business." Merrin couldn't keep the sneer off his face and the triumph out of his voice. He had her there.

The girl stuck her chin out stubbornly, mismatched eyes narrowed, and for a brief moment Merrin hoped that she would turn around and walk out- good riddance too. But then she looked away, biting her lip in annoyance, and Merrin smirked; he had won this battle.

"Mr. Bott wants an appointment." she finally told him, "He needs to see the Chief Hermetic Scribe... something about some fabric order or the like. " She sighed heavily, and Merrin got the idea that sewing and working with clothes wasn't exactly her cup of tea.

"Well, she's out." Merrin told her again, then with exaggerated, mocking patience, added, "Technically, I'm the only one here. So if you could be specific-"

"He wasn't specific! He just said he needed an appointment and he needed one soon, _alright?" _

"Well I can't _give _you an appointment until you tell me _exactly _what it's for! Standard procedure!"

"Why _exactly?_ Can't you just write down 'fabric order discussion'?"

"_No! I can't!"_

_"AHEM!"_

The two teenagers, who had been so thoroughly engrossed in their argument, looked up at the sound of an intruder. Apparently, this argument had gotten rather loud, loud enough that Jilie Djin, Chief Hermetic Scribe, had heard the clamor from down the Way and had come running. Expecting the worst, Jilie Djin had charged into the shop to find her Front Office Clerk and Bertie Bott's new assistant in the middle of a rather nasty shouting match. They made a rather interesting pair, actually- the boy was tall, looming, and had a presence of **Darkenesse** around him, where the girl was lithe, strange, and had an air of one who had been outside for too long. It was actually quite amusing to see them in the middle of a yelling match, but Jilie Djin was not an easily amused person. Her mood, which had been rather pleasant until this particular moment, soured quickly, and making herself as imposing as possible, interrupted the two. Her Front Office Clerk let out a small groan when he saw her, prompting the girl to whirl around and swallow hard, eyes widening.

"Ms. Djin., err... your highness... Madam.. um.." The girl fidgeted in her stance, and flailed for the proper greeting, much to Merrin's immense amusement.

"What is your inquiry?" Ms. Djin looked down her nose at the girl- rather up actually, as she was a little taller- and raised a brow.

"I...I needed- Mr. Bott rather- needed an appointment with you. As soon as possible." She looked away from the Chief Hermetic Scribe, uncomfortable.

"Hm... Alright then. Mr. Hunter, schedule the soonest possible appointment." Merrin clenched his jaw and, with some aggression, pulled out the big black book of appointments and scribbled a meeting down in the closest slot. As he filled out a slip for the girl, he noticed, with mounting irritation, that she was hiding a tiny smile. He thrust the paper at her, and she took it with smirk. "Why, thank you, Mr. Hunter. You have been _so _helpful." She said in a cheerful way that made Merrin imagine many painful ways in which he could cause her bodily harm- one of which including a long fall from a cliff top.

"Is there anything else my Front Office Clerk can help you with-" Ms. Djin was about to ask, but was interrupted immediately by Merrin.

"No. She was just leaving." He glared meaningfully at the girl, who shrugged and smiled at Jilie Djin.

"I appreciate the help though." She told the older woman's retreating back as she ascended the steps to her office and disappeared, leaving the silk rustling in her wake.

Merrin scowled at the girl once his employer had gone, "Allow me to show you out." He growled, wrenching the door open so she could walk through it. But, to his surprise, she remained halfway through the doorway, hand on the door, and she turned her bicolored gaze on him.

"Lavender and Willow Bark." She murmured, as if in a trance.

"Huh?" Merrin asked, halfway between confused and irritated; the girl wasn't making any sense.

"The scent of crushed Lavender helps promote sleep." She informed him, quietly, "And chopped Willow Bark dispels nightmares." Seeing his surprise, the girl added, "You seem like you could use them."

Without another word, she left, leaving Merrin staring after her, wondering if she had insulted him or was just being kind. Merrin, having not known much kindness, went with the former, and spent the rest of the day muttering about crazy teenaged girls. Wren, having been so caught up in the argument with "Mr. Hunter", realized upon re-entering the house that she had completely forgotten to buy the quills and inquire about a job, the latter in which she was glad that she hadn't. Though the lack of quills resulted in another complaint from Tabitha Bott.

For the rest of that day, whenever something went wrong, each blamed it on the less-than-pleasant encounter they had had with the other, although this didn't help either of their predicaments.

* * *

**AU: Thanks for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! Now that Merrin and Wren have met, things will start to speed up a little. Don't go away- the action is just beginning. :)**


	8. Dealer's Handmaidens

**Disclaimer: I own none of the familiar characters from the books! :)**

**Author's Note: Thank you all for being so incredibly patient with me, my school is crazy about exams, so example a, I am a wreck from them! I've been really busy with exams and christmas and everything so agh! Anyway, this chapter is a little darker than the previous, and you are introduced to some extremely important people, some you may love, others you may hate, but I digress. Also, in this chapter, we are introduced to some rather shady people (including my favorite villain), so I hope you enjoy them. This chapter has a bit of language in it, and thus it goes out to my dear Felizespana, who can curse like a sailor and the basis for dear Soleil (of whom you will meet in this chapter). You are awesome, my love, and yes, your awesome is more awesome than regular awesome.**

**Quick Reference Point: "Soleil" means 'sun' in French, and is pronounced "SOH-LAY". :)**

**Without further ado, chapter 8: Dealer's Handmaidens**

_**"The reformative effect of punishment is a belief that dies hard, chiefly I think, because it is so satisfying to our sadistic impulses" ~Bertrand Russell.**_

* * *

"No... please..."

Whimpering, defeated and pitiful, could be heard from what could be perceived as a long tunnel. It was hard to see, for the tunnel was far underground and the only source of light was from a few flickering candles that were propped up every couple of yards, but the smell was unbearable. Filth, death, and **Darkenesse **among the dimly lit corridor. It was a dungeon, and a very long one at that. On both sides of the corridor, there were small doors that led off to separate rooms, where the smell was apparently coming from. If anyone was unlucky enough to end up in this dungeon and happened to look into one of those rooms, the stench alone would be enough to drive even the most stoic of people into deep despair, let alone the contents. Yet the one thing that anyone should know about this particular dungeon was the only permanent occupant, the only person who willingly spent their days and nights in the dark, dank, and disgusting place. A person known only as "The Warden".

To call the Warden a person was a severe misgiving in itself, for no person would be able to stand the environment where he both lived and worked, and no person would have the capability to do what he did. What he was involved in was just too horrific for any person to stand without going hopelessly, unrecognizably insane. That was the only reasonable explanation for the Warden- insanity, yet insanity would be too sane a word to pin upon him. In truth, the Warden had left his humanity behind years ago, and his sanity soon followed suit.

"... please... mercy."

Mercy.

The Warden heard that word alot, although he had no idea what it meant. To be honest, he didn't really want to, for that word was uttered by The Maestro's enemies only, and the Maestro's enemies were the Warden's enemies also. Thus, the word must be the Warden's enemy, and the Warden knew how he dealt with enemies. A slow, drawling smile spread over his face at the thought of what he was going to do. The Maestro kindly gave him permission to do whatever he pleased to his enemies, which were the man's only company down in the dark, horrific dungeons. Luckily for him, the Maestro had a steady supply of enemies, so the Warden was never alone for long.

Cries and pleas for that particular word were what the Warden enjoyed the most, when the enemy embraced the hopelessness of their situation and resorted to the feelings of the Warden, often bribing, threatening, and seducing him. But the Warden was not to be moved, the Warden was faithful to his Maestro. Those bad enemies had upset the Maestro, and so they must be dealt with in ways that would make the last of their Time memorable.

The Warden was good at that.

Saying that the Warden dealt in death was an understatement of epic proportions. Ones who deal with death are merciful in their own way, generally finding little to no pleasure in their occupation, getting it over with as soon as they can steel themselves to begin. The Warden, on the other hand, actually enjoyed his job. There was something about the strangled cries of his prey that thrilled him in ways he couldn't even comprehend, let alone describe eloquently. In a sick, sadistic way, the Warden was in love with the idea of pain; that his 'patients' would suffer by his own hand amazed him. To keep himself entertained, the Warden thought up many new ideas for punishments, each more lengthy and horrifying than the last, each one testing the pain barrier of his victims.

"...I beg you... kind sir... have mercy..."

The whimpering was getting more urgent as the Warden neared the little cell where his charge lurked. The Warden smiled again, revealing tiny little teeth, pointed like a bats, and bleeding, rotting gums.

He was missed.

"Please sir, I beg of you." the pleas weren't defeated anymore, the tone was hinting towards hysteria as they smelled their oncoming demise. One of the Warden's favorite things was the sound of a cornered enemy, one just on the brink of

The Warden made it to the front of the door to the cell, where he paused for a moment, contemplating his methods for tonight. These enemies where only practice, the Maestro had told him on one of the Warden's rare visits to the surface, an excuse to try out some new methods and see what combinations where most effective. The main enemy was coming soon, but the Warden would need to be prepared to welcome them.

"Don't sir, I haven't ever done any harm! Please!"

His almost non-existant nose was no longer affected by the horrendous smell that accosted his nose as he opened the door to the cell, and he entered like a merchant selling his goods. Only when the door slammed shut after him, blowing the nearby candles out and plunging the dealer and victim into darkness, would someone have realized their mistake.

By then, it would have been too late.

"NOO! PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP ME! SOME ONE PLEA- *gleerrgg*"

* * *

Days after Merrin and Wren were getting over the aftershocks of their little spat, not so far away, another two people were having a quarrel of their own.

Marcia Overstrand was in a truly horrific mood, and little known to Wren, she was the underlying cause. When Marcia had first seen her, some alarm in the Extraordinary Wizard's mind had gone off. The girl's appearance, although pretty, was relatively ordinary- nothing special or striking. But, although she couldn't quite put her finger on it, something about the girl had just screamed, "_Witch!_" and Marcia was well known for despising Witches, especially Wendron Witches. So, like a large, tangible, purple cloud, Marcia strode down the Wizard Way to the North Gate, intending to give Mr. Gringe, the gatekeeper, a rather nasty talking to. _Someone hasn't been doing his job. _Marcia had thought in disapproval, _All he has to do is raise and lower the gate and check for shady-looking folk! It's not like he's performing a **projection!**_

Well that had certainly not gone down well.

Gringe, who was not known for his good humor, had been in an especially grim mood. So when Marcia Overstrand accosted him and demanded to know if he had seen anyone strange walk through the Gates these past few days, Gringe responded with what Sarah Heap liked to call, "Colorful Language." Marcia had been equally as shocked and, not used to being so insulted (for not many wanted to cross the ExtraOrdinary Wizard!), had responded in her own way. Marcia and Gringe had spent almost the entire afternoon bickering, and upon seeing that it was getting her nowhere, Marcia vanished and materialized in her quarters of the Wizard Tower, disturbing her Apprentice, who was opening a very private letter from another of his doting admirers.

Septimus Heap, seventh son of a seventh son, frequently received many love-letters from hapless admirers. For a boy of sixteen and a half, Septimus had seen the good, the bad, and the just-plain-disturbing sides of being so sought-after, and most of the time he didn't mind. A lot of the letters that he was sent were harmless; compliments and anonymous declarations of admiration that made him smile and wonder which of the lovely young girls had sent them. Others, however, were extremely racy; comments of lust and desire and ideas that made Septimus blush from ear to ear with discomfort. Some of them were simply disgusting, so much so that Septimus couldn't finish them and destroyed them as soon as he could.

The letter that he was now reading was one of these, and he was barely into the second paragraph of this rather short but bold inquiry, when his mentor appeared by his shoulder. Septimus had yelped and clasped the letter behind his back, but in his shock he had cried a very bad word. Marcia Overstrand was horrified; her Apprentice never used words like that. This began a long and rather nasty argument that resulted in Marcia grabbing the letter, and upon reading it, banned every single anonymous letter addressed to Septimus from entering her rooms. On top of that, she banned visits to Spit Fyre for further notice, which Septimus thought was extremely unfair.

By the end of the night, both were extremely upset at the other and would not speak to the other, which promoted a rather quaky relationship between teacher and student, which was not good for the Castle at all. Neither of them knew it, but events that would occur needed the combined efforts of the Castle's strongest wizards to stop them, so it was the worse time for them to begin a rough patch.

But they were not to know that. Not yet anyway.

* * *

Wren was lying on her bed, flipping through a book with extreme interest. If anyone had happened to ask her what it was about, they would have been rather shocked to hear that it was a book on **Physik,** Alchemy. Such books had been banned from most shops, but Wyvald's Witchy Bookshop had a couple- if you knew where to find them.

On her time off, Wren had spent hours traipsing through the huge store, staring wide-eyed at the books. There had been books everywhere, and on everything! Cooking, tapestry, history, rules of the Castle – Wren particularly liked the section which explained how one could bend the rules- and **Magyk.** She had never seen so many books in one place before! Like a little kid in a candy store- or like Merrin on his first trip to Ma Custard's- Wren had drunk in every nook and cranny of the shop that she could find, and Wyvald had taken quite a liking to her. After spying her sitting in a small corner, buried amongst the piles of books in the **Physik**, Alchemy, and Healing section, Wyvald had let her take some home with her- only a few, mind, and she had to bring them back. But of course, Wren had found a way to bend that rule too, and that afternoon Tabitha was shocked to find her husband's assistant sitting in the shop window, hidden amidst a sea of books about "that healing claptrap" with her head buried in one such book. Next to her, a makeshift cauldron was bubbling, filled with things that Tabitha had a feeling came from the street.

That was it for Tabitha Bott. Despite Wren's claims that she would take the books back as soon as she was done, and there was nothing dangerous in the cauldron or in its use, she decided then and there that she was no longer having a young, bored witch lying around. Wren was getting a job, and as soon as possible.

"Either that or she can take her tail all the way back to the Forest." She informed her husband that night, putting her hands on her wide hips.

"Dear, please, see reason." Mr. Bott pleaded, "I owe the Witch Mother this, and you don't invoke the anger of a Wendron Witch Mother."

Tabitha's stern green eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms, glaring her husband down. Mr. Bott swallowed, "oh dear" he thought. He knew what was coming next and was dreading it.

"Well, unless she gets a job, you will have to deal with that." She spat, "I'm not having an unstable, teenaged witch lying around the house and making concoctions out of God-knows-what! She could blow up the entire Castle! This is my house, and Witch Mother or no, we make the rules here, not she."

Mr. Bott heaved a great sigh- partly of relief that she didn't get wound up- and nodded resignedly, it took a braver man than he to stand up to Tabitha Bott.

"She gets a job." She instructed, turning her back on him, "Until then, you're sleeping on the couch."

* * *

And that was how Wren ended up wandering down on one of the backstreets of the Castle, trying for about the millionth time to decipher the hastily scrawled directions on a yellowing piece of paper. Wren had walked into the Manuscriptorium to inquire about a job- hopefully one as far from the nasty, dark-haired scribe as possible in one room- and spied a sign for the Infirmary.

"Help Wanted!" The sign had blared in it's red writing, "Patient person with experience with herbs and healing." Wren had had to struggle to keep from jumping for joy, and grabbing a flyer, she had asked directions from the tall, fair-haired scribe she had met on her first day there. The scribe, whose name was Mr. Fox- "Call me Foxy, everyone does."- scrawled down directions under the suspicious eye of Jilie Djin and the evil eye of her Front Office Clerk, shifting uncomfortably under their gaze. Wren had thanked him gratefully and, making a face at the horrible boy, who had obviously not taken her advice on the sleep-medicine and her a very rude sign in return, she had breezed triumphantly out of the Manuscriptorium.

Her had triumph faded, however, when she realized that the directions where very vague and she had absolutely no idea where any of the identifying places were. For near an hour, Wren had ducked around every single back-way, tunnel, and bi-way in vain until eventually she had leaned against a brick wall on a not-so-crowded-but-wide street and given up. She was lost. Completely, utterly, and hopelessly lost. It was not a nice feeling.

Frowning, Wren checked the little piece of paper for what must have been the 10th time in a minute and sighed heavily, running a hand through her long brown hair. She half expected the words to jumble themselves up, letters changing into a directional language that she might be able to understand; but no, the words stayed where they were, sticking stubbornly to the page like they were mocking her, saying "Ha-ha! You're lost! We won't get you home, you're lost!"

Wren glared at the letters. "Fat lot of help you were." She muttered.

"What was that?"

"Did you say something?"

"I think she just called you fat, Tiff!"

"She what?"

Wren looked up at the sound of voices. In front of her, barely a few feet away, a troupe of girls about her age clumped together in a protective huddle. At least, they looked like they were her age, but the clothes they were wearing made them look like they were playing dress-up with their mothers' clothes. Each girl wore tight clothes that showed a bit more skin than was really necessary, and high shoes that looked like they hurt to take more than a step. But one of them, the girl who had spoken last, stood out among the others. She had hair so dark it looked like it was made out of shadow itself, and her icy-grey eyes glinted at her with undisguised disdain. She had olive-colored skin that was covered in powder, and a shapely body. Her clothes were the tightest and lowest of the lot, so tight that Wren wondered if she could breathe properly. On her high shoes she was almost half a foot taller than Wren, and her arms were crossed. She must have been the leader, Wren thought, and she wondered what she had said to make this girl glare at her so.

"Um... Hello?" Wren offered, brow raised, "Can I help you?"

The lead leered girl at her, "Call me fat, did you? And now you have the nerve to say 'hi'? Wow." She looked Wren up and down in a swift motion, her ice eyes lingering for a moment on her trousers, and her upper lip twitched into a twisted look of distaste.

She turned to her cronies and murmured something to them behind a hand, and at once violent, malicious giggling erupted from the group as they looked at her. Wren was reminded rather disturbingly of a group of wolverines spying their prey for the night.

"Do you see her clothes, Tiffany?" one of them asked the leader

"Yeah, seriously, what does she think she is, a sailor?"

"I bet! You see those trousers?"

"Uh-huh. I bet her parents don't have the money to pay for proper clothes."

"Mmm, oh! I bet her mother was one of those Young-Army prostitutes! She's got no job now it's been disbanded!"

"Oh, I bet!"

"That's why she wears those trousers!"

"A previous customer's, i bet."

The girls threw these comments among themselves, loud enough so Wren could hear, and the young witch looked down at herself. She hadn't thought she stood out that much… she was starting to feel rather self-conscious. She bit her lip and frowned, she didn't even remember who her mother was, let alone what she did. Mind filled with all types of cruel thoughts, she pulled out one of the **Physik** books from her satchel and tried to step past them. But she might as well have pulled out a bow and arrow and pointed it at them. The girls stared at the book in her hands with disgust and began whispering even more vigorously amongst themselves, peering out at her book and Wren. They were blocking her way, too.

"Can I get past?" Wren muttered, glaring at them.

The girls looked at her, standing behind their leader, Tiffany. "Can I get past?" Tiffany mocked in a high voice that sounded nothing like Wren's, "Oh isn't she precious!"

"I have somewhere to be." Wren growled, glaring. She was normally not a violent person, but these girls were really starting to piss her off.

"Oh I bet you do, **Physik** whore! I bet you are one of those Wendron-Witch wannabes, am I right? What do you and your friends do, witch-whore?" Tiffany spat, "dance and sing like savages and sell yourselves to the highest bidder like th-"

She was abruptly cut of, which was fantastic, because Wren on the verge of leaping at her and giving her a good punch in that powdered nose. To Wren's surprise, and evidently to Tiffany's too, a girl a few inches shorter than the latter stood in front of her, her fist balled in a threatening way. Tiffany obviously knew the intruder, and from the hideous hatred in the glare she was giving her, Wren could tell that they were not on good terms.

"Why don't you take your troupe of prostitutes and go find your business where there's profit, Tiffany?" the smaller girl said with mock kindness, like she was talking to a bratty and rather dim-witted 3-year-old. Tiffany stuck her nose in the air as her back-up hovered around her, anxiously awaiting the answer of their leader and looking contemptuously at the intruder. They obviously knew her well too, and had a very low opinion of her. How would she react to this insult of her pride? Whatever they were expecting, they were disappointed when she marched off with an audible sniff, spitting onto the ground at their feet- something the others girls did also before marching off with broken dignity.

Wren glared after her retreating back until they were out of sight, then turned to look at the intruder. She did a double take when she saw the girl's face, however. It was Tiffany, or at least looked enough like her to be her twin. They had the same olive skin, dark curtain of hair, and tall figure. It was like she was looking at another Tiffany.

The girl caught her gaze and smiled apologetically. "Sorry lot as you've ever seen 'em, believe me." She shook her head in annoyance, "They've been like that as long as I've known 'em, really. Obnoxious, nasty, and completely faithful to their 'goddess'." The girl raised her eyes to the heavens, "I'm sorry they attacked you." She sounded genuinely sorry, like their cruelty was her own personal fault, and Wren wondered if maybe her twin theories weren't so far off.

"Not your fault." Wren shrugged, smiling crookedly at her, "It's alright."

"Something tells me that you're new here, right?" the girl fixed her eyes, which Wren noticed were a strange shade of golden-yellow, on her, playfulness in them.

Wren nodded, smiling sheepishly, "That obvious?"

The girl grinned, laughing, "Yeah, that and you're the only one here holding onto a piece of paper labeled 'directions'."

* * *

As they walked to the Infirmary, the girl and Wren talked amiably.

The girl's name was Soleil Tarsal, the younger "and more awesome!" of shoemaker Terry Tarsal's two twin daughters. The elder, as Wren observed, was Tiffany Tarsal, the leader of the gang of nasty girls who many enjoyed calling, "Hell's Handmaidens" a name that Soleil had the joy of creating. As the shoemaker's daughter, Soleil was supposed to learn a thing or two about the craft, but she had left that to Tiffany "Could you see her being a wizard or scribe or something like that? I think not" and had high hopes for her skills in other crafts.

"Maybe the Queen's attendant or something..." Soleil mused as they walked along the cobblestone pathway that led to the Infirmary. "You see, I love fashion and that, but I want some excitement, you know?" Wren nodded. She understood that. Being at the Coven was always fun, yet she had always yearned for some adventure, being out with a new crew. "Maybe you should be a Wendron Witch." Wren suggested, laughing. Soleil laughed hard at that. "Imagine that!" she cackled and waved her hands in front of her face in a mysterious way that did actually remind Wren of her sisters, or fellow witches. "Soleil the Wendron, what would my little sister say?" Wren laughed, "She would be horrified, I'm sure. She'd probably die of embarrassment."

Soleil howled with laughter at that prospect, "Good riddance!" She hooted, making Wren laugh so hard that she swore her sides would split. She hadn't had this much fun since she had left the Coven, Wren thought to herself between bouts of loud two girls were laughing so loud that they were starting to attract the attention of passersby, but they were too busy laughing to notice. So when a couple of burly-looking men in hoods charged into them, they sprawled on the street.

"Watch it, geerlies." One of them, the smaller of the two, snarled down at them. His voice was nasally, like he was whining. The other smiled toothily down at them from under his dark hood as they got up, and Wren shivered automatically. There was something in the man's eyes that reminded her of something. Some kind of memory... some event long forgotten. Whatever it was, it scared her.

Evidently, it didn't scare Soleil, who glared back at them, "Excuse me?"

The smaller one, who was obviously the brains of the two, sneered down at her. "I say-ed, Shove off, sweet'art. You deaf or som-mn?" His bulky, predatory friend laughed at this joke, but it sounded more like an excited puppy than a human laugh. He fixed his eyes on the two of them and licked his dry lips like he was hungry. He even _looked _hungry, wolflike almost, as he looked at Soleil, who was in the middle of thinking up a good, cutting comeback. Both men looked extremely amused by the angry, dark haired girl, but there was an ominous air about them.

Soleil saw none of this, but Wren did. "C'mon, Soleil. I'm gonna be late..." Wren tugged Soleil in the other direction, ignoring the snickers of the two men.

"Nice chattin' with ya, laydies." the whiney voice followed them as Wren dragged her glaring friend in the other direction, making her skin itch. She didn't know why she didn't follow Soleil's example and give the nasty men a piece of her mind, they were just men right? It wasn't like they were going to hurt them..

Then another voice chimed from behind her, a voice that made her pick her pace and her heart beat double time for fear.

"Yes," a high, almost childlike voice giggled in echoing agreement with it's companion "lovely chat with the delicious... girlies".

After that comment, Wren found herself jogging along the street, and even Soleil picked up the pace. Neither of them dared look behind them until they had safely reached the Infirmary, and they both stuck close together on their way home. Soleil had tried to make a few light-hearted jokes to up the somber mood, but Wren wasn't in the mood to laugh anymore. She had noticed something about the men, specifically the taller one with the childlike, innocent voice, and it wasn't just his eyes.

When he had spoken... Wren was positive that he had called them..._ "morsels"_

* * *

**AN: Don't worry, we will be seeing more of all of these characters in the near future- each of them have a very distinct future. Be prepared for some flashbacks and for the romance lovers, well the next chapter is for you. :) Rate/Review!**


	9. Playing the Hero

**Disclaimer: Yeah yeah, not Angie Sage. If I was, I would make Jenna get over herself. Thank you.**

**Hello, my dear readers!**

**Yes, I am back from my hiatus- thank God for Summer break and for breaks in writer's block, so thank you so much for waiting so patiently! However, there were a couple of kinks in the story that I had to figure my way around. Why, you ask? Because of DARKE, of course! Those of you avid Sep Heap fans who have read the book- I didn't mind it too much, but from those who have read this story will notice some immediate problems. For example- Merrin going to the Port, his engineering the whole Darke Domaine, among other things, that do not fit with my current story line. SO, PEOPLE, THIS IS AN URGENT MESSAGE TO ALL OF MY DARLING READERS! Anything that does not line up in the previous chapters, simply disregard it. Merrin's return to the Castle and the relationship with his mother and the Darke and stuff will be explained here, o don't you worry.**

**Anyway, I'd like to dedicate this slightly-awful and angst-ridden chapter to the lovely _Camilla Richard_, who can expect many more chapter dedications in the future, due to her support, endless inspiration, and who never fails to make me laugh and who can always be counted on for a kind word. Also, guys, look her up. Her writing, especially on the Sep Heap side (which will be re-published soon, hopefully), is phenomenal. **

**So, without further ado, my dear readers, thank you for waiting, and here is Chapter 9!**

**Chapter 9: Playing the Hero**

* * *

As much as he liked to think himself fearless- for fear was what was felt by his Maestro's enemies, generally spawned by his own mangled hands and rancid breath- the Warden was not. Of course, he would not let it show that he was ever afraid, nor that he felt any other emotion other than eagerness to get started with those unfortunate people thrown into his dungeon, but there was no denying that the Warden was actually scared of something, and that was as close to human as he could get. This was unfortunate for a man in his situation, and by that the author does not wish to imply that he was scared of his job.

No way.

The Warden cherished his job like it was water to a man starving for it. He glorified in the strength and skill of his hands and the devices he had painstakingly designed, and the screams and agonized cries of his victims were his greatest pleasure. His Maestro had given him his job as a gift, and the Warden more than made the most out of it.

However, there was one thing the Warden was truly scared of, other than, of course, the Maestro. And because of this fear, the Warden never left his dungeon, much to the prolonged suffering of his victims. But he really didn't need to, for the Maestro needed him where he was, and countless others to aid him in the ways that the Warden could not.

And at that particular moment, there were tens, no, hundreds, of Maestro's followers running around in the broad daylight. Of course, they were not obvious, rather like weeds in their environment, sucking out the life and happiness of every place they were situated, leaving it devoid of any emotion other than intense, unexplainable sadness.

And, for the longest time, they had left the Castle untouched. None but the Maestro knew why, and although it seemed like the perfect place to go, he made them leave it. Until only recently, when one of his most trusted of followers had reported the appearance of a very strange person inside the Castle walls. The Maestro had ordered his follower to continue with this person, and see what they could bring them to.

For the Maestro, this was news he had waited lifetimes for.

For his followers, it was another chance to wreak havoc, to take over, and to gain favor with their master. Not redemption. For the Maestro wasn't fond of second chances.

For the Warden, it meant nothing else but the opening and closing of his dungeon door, and the screams of his newest victims as they began their slow descent into madness.

* * *

Merrin Meredith, true to Wren's assumption when she saw him at the Manuscriptorium, had not taken her advice. If anything, Merrin looked like he was deliberately trying not to sleep well, and took pride in making himself look like a train wreck. Which is the only valid description of the tall, gangly boy trudging down the cobblestone lane, shoulders slumped like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Everything about him screamed fatigue; from the dirty, crumpled, too short robes; scuffed, ratty shoes; messy, knotted, dark hair; to the deep, purple bags under his dark eyes. It looked almost deliberate. And 10 years ago, that assumption would have been true. DomDaniel, as evil and inhuman as he liked to think himself, had one exceedingly human trait: he was very picky about appearance.

Despite the height change, at age seven, Merrin looked much like he did at that present moment. He had enjoyed waking up early to wreck his room, crease his clothing, mess up his hair, and if he was lucky and especially sneaky, steal some of that coal-like stuff that the handmaidens and nurses used for their eyes and smear it under his eyes and in his hair. This did not help his situation in the least, for his master, already beginning to doubt his protégé's magykal abilities, couldn't help but notice how dark the hair and eyes of this 'Septimus Heap' were. On those situations, DomDaniel himself assisted in washing up this meddlesome child- henceforth, 10 years later, Merrin had mastered the Darke Art of underwater breathing. Regardless of his master's terrible treatment of him, when Merrin was seven, he had always been able to count on a warm bed and a full stomach, and his lack of cleanliness then was only to stir his master's ire. Now, at age seventeen and a good few feet taller, Merrin could count on neither of those things, and his appearance was due to fatigue.

Merrin shook his head firmly, clearing away the shimmering remnants of what little sleep he had had and of the bad memories of his childhood. "He's dead, you idiot." He spat out loud, startling a passer-by and prompting an evil glare in his direction. He reached down to twist the Two-Faced ring on his left thumb, more out of habit than anything malevolent, and was startled and disappointed to find that neither ring nor thumb was where it should be. In the place of a long, big knuckled thumb, there was a pitiful stub of a thing, which Merrin regarded with contempt and quickly averted his eyes before the memories came flooding back.

Long, ribbon-wearing shoes.

Shoulder-length brown hair in a style that did not belong.

The metallic flash of a blunt butcher's knife.

Cold violet eyes.

A strangled scream.

Pain, white hot and searing every cell.

Merrin clutched his stub of a thumb and closed his eyes tight. He liked to think that he'd learned from then. He really did. More than three years had past since that time, and those three years were pure torture for him. He was left on his own with no one but Nursie and his own thoughts to accompany him, and neither option was particularly promising. One reason for this was because every time he closed his eyes, he heard the screaming. He didn't see anything, for three years ago, that was all anyone saw for that horrible four days. Nothingness. Darkness. Of course, Merrin could see in it, but he hadn't taken any notice of the bodies collapsed on the flooded ways, struggling to drag themselves across the street to shelter. If he had, Merrin knew that he probably would have stepped on them or kicked him for a while, laughing manically before running down the street, arms spread wide like a demented bird, and that thought made him shiver with disgust and shame.

The other reason of course, Nursie. It became clear to Merrin throughout the years he had spent with that mad-eyed vulture of a woman that Nursie- Nurse Meredith, for those who came in late- was getting on in her years, and it seemed to Merrin that she seemed to be taking her sanity with her. Nurse Meredith, from the eyes of anyone who was seeing her for the first time (or even for the last few years, as a matter of fact), was not much of a sight. She was average height, though with a combination of her declining height and Merrin's most recent growth spurt (yes, he had grown _again _and was now almost half a head taller than most other guys his age) Merrin could easily look down on her and she had to stand on tiptoe to be even close to looking at his chin. She was broad shouldered and impressively built, had mousey hair, more gray than anything else, wild brown eyes, and a face that was prone to turning red at the slightest show of emotion. Despite the otherwise plain appearance, something about Nursie's face spoke of beauty at one time, and not the exotic, pristine beauty of the Princess and her ancestors, but a classic beauty. However, that was long lost and the woman who replaced her was a hollow shell. A hollow shell with mad, staring eyes that were perpetually turned to the back window of the DollHouse as if expecting someone to come through that way. Merrin didn't know who she was looking for, although he had heard her mention the name, "Cirilan" more than once while looking at him, only to shake herself out of this reverie and back to real life. Whoever this Cirilan was, Merrin wanted nothing from them or Nursie. He wanted a life. His own.

That's why he came back to the Castle after months of living in the Port. So he could start again and make up for what wrongs he had done. So he had returned, hoping for forgiveness. But everywhere he looked, it seemed that someone had been hurt because of his actions as a 14-year-old. An idiotic 14-year-old at that. Someone, in every alley, in every causeway, in every street, had experienced some loss because of his actions. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers… the families of those he'd killed stared at him, served him food, gave him second hand clothing. They didn't know.

"Damn it!" Merrin yelled at the nearest person to look at him too long. "Stop _staring at me!"_

Had this been the Castle, the person would have given him a strange look and hurried on, eager to avoid any rough-and-tumble situation where their neighbours may have seen and judged, and Merrin would've gotten off with nothing but a sense of greater shame. But, fortunately for his conscience and unfortunately for everything else, this was not the Castle. Merrin's feet had dragged the rest of him back down to the Port, away from the innocent stares and carpet of guilt, into the arms of people much like himself.

Odd.

Jumbled up.

People from all places, all walks of life, and with all different habits, styles, and appearances, all mixed together in the same place like puzzle pieces from thousands of different puzzles.

The person who Merrin had yelled at was one of the more common of people around here, all year around. A sailor. And quite a strong one at that, Merrin found out after 5 minutes of a good, solid brawl. The sailor had come away significantly better off, leaving Merrin heaving in the middle of the causeway, black eye and split lip, until a kind fire-breather helped him up.

Wondering briefly what on earth one such person was doing here, he reached the main street, wiping his bloody lip on his grimy sleeve and brushing his black hair from his face, Merrin's ears were accosted with the sound of laughter and the hustle and bustle of a market. The Year-And-A-Day-Market, to be precise.

The Year-And-A-Day-Market was, as the name suggests, a market that occurred one day every year and a day, and it was an absolute haven for healers, doctors, witches, alchemists, and anyone who was interested in or practiced herb lore and healing. The ingredients found here were priceless and plentiful; yet, they could be used for as poison as well as poultice, so all sorts of people attended. This market was the final word in healing, and people came from far and wide to buy the things available. These people included, Merrin knew, the Wendron Witches and the Port Witch Coven, and he made a mental note to keep an eye out for both parties as he walked the street, allowing himself to get lost in the crowd and let his mind go blank, leaving all guilty and tortured thoughts on the shore of consciousness and filling his mind instead with the names of different herbs, stopping briefly on Lavender and Willow bark, though not really knowing why.

* * *

When two people have taken it upon themselves to hate each other, it is almost a rule that where they can possibly be thrown together, they will be. No matter how hard they try to avoid each other, they will inadvertently be heading in the same direction into the same place, however different their intentions may be.

For nearly three weeks, this had not been the case for Wren. With a job that she adored and excelled in at the Infirmary (where, the author wishes to add, she was very close to her home in the Forest and therefore able to maintain contact with the Witch Mother every so often), Wren was occupied throughout most of the day, meaning she could avoid the Manuscriptorium and any errands sending her there. She was quite set on despising the dark-looking boy, and he was almost as set on despising her.

Another plus side of her new job at the Infirmary was that it gave her a chance to meet many of the residents of the Castle. Anyone new to working in any type of healing facility would be surprised at the amount of patients that come in, especially for a small queendom as the Castle was, and Wren was no exception. The working hours were long and labored, but Wren's 'little gift' helped her manage the workload quickly and efficiently. She had quickly gained repute as an extremely talented healer for one so young, and she found herself treating more and more patients as the weeks went by. Wren didn't complain, though, for she, rather like someone else, adored her job with a passion. Her only regret was that her Infirmary job did not let her explore the Castle as often as she would like, so when the Head Physician asked her to go down to the Port and pick up the needed supplies from the Year-And-A-Day-Market, Wren jumped at the chance.

That morning, dressed in the long patched skirt and white blouse she favored for traveling, she packed a small knapsack filled with the money the Head Physician had given her for the ingredients and the trip, a little of her own earnings for accommodation should she need it, a flask of water, and bread, cheese, and fruit for lunch supplied by Tabitha, Wren raced down to the Port Barge to start her trip to the market.

It was approximately 10 hours later, when the sun was rapidly descending in the sky and the merchants were packing up their goods until the next meeting in a year and a day, singing softly in the musical accents of countries far east, that Wren raised her head and noticed the time.

"Curse it!" Wren cried at the sun, almost in a vain attempt to get it to stop it's descent. If anything, the sun sank even faster in the early evening sky, leaving the teenaged healer with quite a problem on her hands. How was she supposed to get home now? The final Port barge had departed over an hour ago, and she had absolutely no idea where to go. At least, in the Forest, if she had strayed from the Circle and lost track of time, she would be able to climb an old Oak or Willow tree and take shelter for the night, but here in the Port, where houses and shelter were plentiful and shady characters even more so, Wren had not a clue what to do. She had eaten most of her food in the mid-afternoon, and so she wasn't particularly hungry, although if she was going to be walking around all night, she would doubtlessly get so. Worse still, she Wren wasn't sure if she had enough money to get shelter for the night, as she had spent both the Head's money and most of hers on poultices and books of healing, which were safe in her now heavy little knapsack.

Sighing heavily, Wren shouldered her pack and walked down a street, looking out for any place that faintly resembled a stay-house. However, this was a difficult job considering Wren had never been inside a stay-house in her entire life, and thus had absolutely no idea what to look for and was left wandering around in vain until the sun fully went down and the slither of the crescent moon was visible past the lamp lights on each side of the streets. Thus, Wren was left in the darkness in the streets, clutching her little knapsack to her back and shivering slightly, running her hands quickly up and down her arms. There was really no one left on the street that had only a few hours ago been bustling with people, and Wren hurried down it, hoping to find shelter, conscious suddenly of how vulnerable she was.

So when the footsteps of what sounded like a few people were heard hurrying along behind her at a pace near her own, steadily getting closer, Wren's heart jumped and she sped up. So did they. She increased speed more, realizing with dismay that they were definitely tailing her and that she was in trouble. She ducked into a nearby alleyway, allowing herself a moment to look back. There were more than the three that she had estimated- almost 8, by the looks of it, and people of varying heights and sizes, their faces hidden by shadow. Wren saw the flash of a knife and finally her adrenaline kicked in, hitching her skirt up and racing down the alleyway, letting loose a scream of terror when a hand grabbed her and she felt a sharp pain in her upper arm before she tore herself away.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" Wren shrieked, tearing down the street, knapsack clutched tighter to her body. "SOMEONE HELP!" She beseeched the barren streets, hoping that someone had heard her and would help.

* * *

Well, someone had heard the frantic screams, and, against their better judgement and every sane thought in their head, was heading to help the source. With a promise that he would regret it later and he would never again do anything this stupid, Merrin Meredith navigated the streets quickly, his long legs carrying him fast across the cobblestones. Thanks to all the running he did, Merrin was exceedingly fast, and in no less than two minutes (although to him it seemed like at least 15), he was in sight of the shadowed figures racing ahead of him, and could hear the desperate cries like they came from right next to him.

Or maybe they were.

Merrin jerked his head to the left, and saw, to his great annoyance, that the screamer was down the next alley, and was about to be cut off from all directions by the shadowy figures that he knew could only be one thing. The 21 Gang of the Port, so named because of the warehouse that they lived at. The 21 Gang were what every resident of the Port feared, next to the Port Witch Coven, of course. Most of the members were ex-Young-Army members, and being trained rigorously for most of their lives, finding themselves with nothing to do and nowhere to go, had turned to a life of crime. They were mostly boys and men, although some girls had joined up, finding life was much more fun when there were people to terrorize. Plunging his hands down his boots, Merrin withdrew two kitchen knives- yes, they were practically useless when compared to the daggers that were famously wielded by this crew, but Merrin could hold out for a while if needs be. He charged down a nearby alleyway, hoping to drag the distressed creature away to hide, but as he jumped out of the alleyway, Merrin found himself out of options.

He was surrounded.

He, and the screamer, who had stopped screaming (finally), and was turning circle on the spot, wearing the same expression a rabbit that Merrin had cornered once had worn. Merrin saw immediately that she- for no man could've made a scream like that- was unarmed and terrified, and that she was also bleeding from her arm. He cursed quietly, turning to the group of people, quickly sizing up the situation like he had been taught, in a similar way that Septimus Heap had been taught to do in the Young Army. But it didn't take an ex-young army cadet or an apprentice of DomDaniel to know that the Necromancer's Apprentice and the terrified Wendron did not stand a chance in Hell. They were outnumbered 20-something to 2, armed with nothing but two rusty kitchen knives and tired legs. And both they and their enemies knew it too.

Still, Merrin stood a little in front of the girl, glaring at figure closest to him, who was laughing as other members of the gang stepped closer to them, closing the two in a circle. A more adventurous member lurched out and struck the girl with a dagger, slicing up the other side of her arm while she cried out and lurched back. Merrin pushed her behind him with a swing of his arm, snarling at her to "Watch out for their knives, idiot!", before striking back at the figure with his knife, cutting them down the face before they yelped and jumped back.

The laughing figure was no longer laughing, but stepped forward into the light with a sneering smile. "Mate, we only want the girl. A plaything, you see?" The figure was a man, barely into his twenties, with the close cropped blonde hair and pale grey eyes of an ex-Young Army cadet, who passed a wicked looking dagger from hand to hand like it was a ball. He snickered as he spoke, and the snickering was echoed by the rest of the 21 Gang. "The rest of the gang...we get a little lonely sometimes... and our girls here are getting bored with playing with us. Come on, mate." The man's eyes raked the girl up and down, and Merrin felt anger surging up from inside him. He _hated _people like that, who thought they could do whatever they wanted without caring how it affected others. He looked at the girl out of the corner of his eye, and could see how her eyes widened and lip curled in disgust.

Without another word, the screamer surprised everyone present by spitting in the face of this gang leader, snarling, "Filthy pig."

For a moment, there was only silence. It was as if every single person held their breath as the gang leader reached up slowly to wipe his face with the back of his hand, waiting for his reaction. Merrin was silently cursing this idiot of a girl with every word he knew, knowing in his heart of hearts that they were both about to be killed (or 'played with') and it would be all the fault of this screaming girl, and also his own fault. How he could've been so stupid as to follow the screams Merrin did not know, but like he promised himself, he was regretting it. Everyone stood silent and still until the leader turned his eyes on them, and there was something else in there this time: a dangerous, icy anger.

"Bad move, girly." Was all he said before the circle closed and, almost as one, the 21 Gang leaped upon them.

* * *

**Cliffhangers, guys! You love to hate them, I know. **

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thank you SO MUCH for waiting!**


	10. Strange Names and First Smiles

**Disclaimer: Need I say it? Not Angie Sage**

**Hope everyone is enjoying being back at school! I sure am (not- the workload is horrific). Everyone had a good summer? Good! Now, I have a request for you! My story mainly centers around Merrin and Wren, but I want to know if there are any particular couples that you want to see. I can almost guarantee you that they'll be in my story already, but I could always add. :) Also, if anyone has any OC's that they have worked really hard on and think deserve a bit of screen-time, let me know. They won't get a massive part in the story, but you never know, they may turn up in a scene or something... ;)**

**Chapter 10: Strange Names and First Smiles**

* * *

One of the things that most people think about when they think about Princesses, other than, of course, the beautiful dresses, priceless jewels, the palaces, and the handsome princes destined to ride in and sweep the princess off into a happy ending.

What most people don't think of is the responsibility of managing an entire Queendom on their slender shoulders, and Jenna Heap was more than feeling that responsibility; it was crushing her.

Sitting at her large, red, Oakwood desk, Jenna stared out the window at the night sky, tapping her quill lightly on the side of her desk and watching as the raindrops raced each other down the glass of her bedroom window. The night sky was almost as dreary as her own room, which she still had not designed to fit her likes. Still, she considered that, since she would not be in this room for very much longer, there was really no point.

She sighed heavily, nibbling daintily on the edge of her quill, a habit that she had picked up from Beetle.

Beetle…..

Jenna was puzzled. Very puzzled.

Not to say that this was not a rare occasion of late, as the Crown Princess of the Castle (not to mention a very valid member of the Port Witch Coven) had been running herself aground with the amount of duties she had to accomplish by her 18th birthday, and thus was extremely stressed. Why her 18th birthday? The 16-and-a-half-year-old Princess had barely a year and a half to go before her coronation, on precisely the eve of her 18th birthday, as was tradition- if the current Queen was willing to step down, and the Princess' Time Was Right- and preparations were already being made.

Jenna had already studied what she had dubbed, her "Little Black Book" (and what most of the Wizards, namely a Madame Marcia Overstrand, nicknamed, "The-End-Of-Privacy-As-We-Know-It-Manual") about 273 times, and it seemed as if every time she began to think that she was getting _somewhere _with this Princess stuff (she still refused to say the Q word until she was staring the situation in the face) when more duties piled on and she lost all control again. On top of managing expansion inside the Castle, the importing and exporting of food and necessary goods, laws and government, and the security problems, Jenna found that she had to deal with relationships with other queendoms (or _kingdoms_, entire lands run by _men, _to her abject horror).

As Jenna was raised in a humble one-room place in the Ramblings as the youngest child and only daughter of Silas and Sarah Heap, she really had no clue about any other region outside her own. Silas and Sarah had never seen the point in it, and thus had never learned geography, and Snorri Snorrelsen, the only person Jenna knew who was in reach and could be of some help in this area, had taken off with her mother back to the North. Not that Jenna had minded at first, three years ago, but now she was beginning to realize how useful Snorri would have been to her. Ah well.

Another problem was the Witches.

The very thought of them made Jenna cringe and shudder. Anyone, if she had mentioned them, would have done the same, thinking of the Darke that these women immersed themselves in, and the stories of the horrible deeds that they were fond of doing. If the Princess had talked of the Witches that she disdained with any person, they automatically would have assumed she meant the Port Witch Coven, without a doubt the most despicable of the Witch Covens. But she did not. Jenna Heap was a member of said Coven, thanks to an incident that occurred three years ago, and as such was perfectly comfortable talking about the Port Witches, although she did not approve nor condone some of the things they did. Jenna would modestly avert her eyes from those things, instead turning her contempt to the Wendron Witches, who she considered, like her adoptive mother, Sarah, DomDaniel, and Marcia Overstrand, to be a complete waste of space. But these Wendrons were outside Jenna's jurisdiction, and so were very dangerous, which was an opinion she shared with another young person of great power, the Chief Hermetic Scribe, O. Beetle Beetle.

Beetle.

The source of her confusion.

The very name of the young Chief Hermetic Scribe sent Jenna's mind reeling and her heart bumbling. For her brother's best friend was acting…. different towards her. Ever since they had rescued Beetle from the Sealed Chamber in the Manuscriptorium, Beetle had been colder to her. It was barely noticeable at first, with their normally relaxed and long conversations turning shorter and more rushed, like he was trying to get away. Then, as the months passed, Beetle had begun to avoid Jenna almost completely, and whatever contact they had was painfully formal, and charged with tension and unspoken anger.

Jenna was completely lost. She had no idea what she had done to make Beetle hate her so much, but she needed to make it up to him. In a year and a half, Jenna would be Queen of the Castle, and she had no clue what she was doing. She had just come to terms with how completely alone she was in this, and all Jenna knew was that she needed her friend more than she ever had before… she needed him. Not her Chief Hermetic Scribe.

She needed her Beetle.

* * *

_Why, oh why am I so infernally _stupid_?_

Merrin asked himself this same question over and over and over in his mind as he and the idiot girl made their way down the dirty, cobblestone streets of the Port, both of them limping slightly. Nearly 4 times, Merrin remembered coming within an inch of his death. He saw the flashing of the blade, the twitching hands, the bulging muscles, the rag- each time it was a different weapon, but Merrin could still see the same bloodlust in the eyes of his attacker, the same grim determination as instincts took over and it was kill or be killed. And each time, although Merrin had really no idea how he had done it, he managed his way out of the death-trap without hurting them, at least not too badly, although he did have some painful souvenirs to take with him, and they throbbed increasingly as he staggered up the road.

He could say the same for the girl, who he had identified as the know it all from Bertie Bott's Second Hand Wizard Cloak Shop down the Wizard Way. From the fleeting glances that he gave her as they walked silently along the street, she was limping, like him, and was bleeding from multiple places on her upper body. A rather nasty gash extended the full length of her right upper arm, and the torn shirtsleeve was already red with blood, but she didn't seem too concerned. She was clutching her small but heavy-looking knapsack to her as if she was afraid someone would steal it away at any moment, and she looked a little pale from blood loss, but apart from that, she seemed calm.

_What a difference, _Merrin thought dryly, _between the girl who had shrieked like a banshee before I came, to this bleeding, calm one._

He knew which of the two he preferred.

Plus, he had no intention of ever doing something that reckless and insane ever again, regardless of the situation or the intent. Reckless was something that he had been before, and look where that had gotten him and all the others. Merrin's stub of a left thumb throbbed dully in some kind of sadistic reminder, and he glared at it in distaste. _That, _Merrin decided, nodding his head and setting his jaw, _is never going to happen again._

Thinking about his old wounds brought him back to the present, and he winced almost invisibly at the pain in his lower leg. Something had gotten him there, Merrin knew, and gotten him badly, but he had no intention of preening himself in front of _her_, of all people. She'd probably scorn him; call him a coward, or worse, _a wimp. _

He shot a sidelong glare-glance at the girl, and was surprised and unprepared to find her bicoloured eyes watching him. Those eyes unnerved him more than he liked to admit, and Merrin immediately looked away, never one for eye contact. Still, he felt her eyes on his face even when he had turned away.

They kept walking down the streets without speaking, Merrin occasionally checking that they were going in the right direction; he didn't want them to get attacked again, for he knew that they wouldn't be able to take it a second time. Still, they had been going for over half an hour, and no one had jumped them yet. That was progress, Merrin thought, but it didn't prevent him from being exceedingly tense.

So when her voice broke the silence between them, Merrin jumped.

"Would it be out of place to ask where we may be going?" Her voice was hoarse from screaming, and flat, numb, and painfully formal. Merrin could have smiled if he was a different person with different memories, and if this were a different situation with a different person, but as it was not, he did not.

Merrin stared pointedly ahead of him, refusing to meet her eyes. "Yes." Was all he said, continuing on down the street in silence for another mile or so, until the throbbing pain in his leg caused him to stop, if only briefly, cursing his bad leg under his breath. Whatever had happened to it couldn't be good, Merrin noted, and tugging the pant leg up a little way, was unprepared for the sight of dark blood travelling down his leg. He pulled his pant leg down again, but not quickly enough, for the girl noticed it too.

"You'd do best to have that seen to, you know." She looked at him sidelong, her face betraying nothing but cautious, practiced concern. And it annoyed him.

"And?" He asked pensively, still refusing to look at her lest his face give away his discomfort, so his voice was muffled as he addressed his shoulder. "What would you know about wounds?"

"More than you." Was her cool, quiet response, "And enough to know that if the blood is that thick by now, the risk of infection is high. If you don't rest it soon, it's only going to get worse." The girl looked at him face on when replying this time, and Merrin could see clearly how her eyes stood out from the pale pallor of her skin. She'd obviously lost some blood too. Merrin looked at her with narrowed eyes, but said nothing. She was right, of course, but he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of knowing so, and thus, drawing a long, ragged breath, began walking again, although it was labored and painful.

_Pesky girl._

"We'll be able to rest around this next corner, ok?" Merrin snarled at her, more out of pain than anger. Another 10 minutes of long, agonizing silence had passed, in which the only sounds were the irregular treads of his own boots and the light, tired tapping of the girl's shoes, and Merrin thought he might as well say something. After all, he didn't want her preaching out more of this healing stuff- it was giving him a migraine.

The girl nodded, a jerky, brief motion. She was nervous, he realized, and, with added displeasure, afraid. Of him. The thought made Merrin sick to his stomach, for he remembered her screams of terror and her expression in the melee as clear as day, and hated to think that that could be brought on because of him. As they rounded the corner and Merrin spotted the painfully florescent pink door of the DollHouse, he was relieved enough to speak.

"Look," Merrin began, willing his voice not to shake and cursing it to high heaven when it did, "I-"

"Thank you!" The girl blurted out at the same time, looking almost surprised that the words had surfaced. "Thank you."

Merrin blinked at her slowly, his hand, halfway to knocking on the bright pink door, froze mid-knock, not sure that he heard her correctly. "I'm sorry?"

The girl looked up at him, eyes wide, and opened her mouth to reply, but Merrin didn't hear it, much to his mounted irritation, because at that moment, the bright pink door opened and, framed in the light, stood the imposing figure of Nurse Meredith. Merrin let out a shaky breath of relief; he had never been so glad to see Nursie as he was now. Nurse Meredith's eyes widened with happiness, and she gathered Merrin into her arms in a fierce half-hug (mostly one sided, as Merrin simply patted her back awkwardly, looking anywhere but the girl and praying that his face wasn't flaming up) before thrusting Merrin inside and in front of the fire, making him a hot chamomile tea and nearly fainting at the sight of his wounds like a real mother would. Evidently, Nurse Meredith had no qualms about letting her "gallant little hero" inside and in front of the fire, regardless of the 6 months he had spent out of her company.

For the girl, however, was a completely different story.

Something changed in Nursie's eyes when she saw the slight, bleeding thing walk through the door. It was like all the awkward tenderness that she had for Merrin disappeared and was replaced with a cold iciness mixed with fear. No matter that the girl in the hallway was clearly unsure, wounded, and no older than her precious boy, this girl reminded Nursie of the very people who scared her witless more than a few times too many over her management of the Dollhouse. The people who were the main landladies of the DollHouse until Merrin's 'dowry' of sorts convinced them to clear out. They very people who the precious Princess had unwillingly (at first) aligned herself with.

The Port Witch Coven.

* * *

And it was for this very reason that, about an hour later, Wren found herself tied to a wooden bedpost in a tiny, windowless room, tired, bleeding, and angry.

Very, very angry.

_He must've been in on it. _She thought, digging her heels into the floor and pulling roughly on the ropes that bound her wrists. They would not budge. Whatever Nursie looked, she was strong and capable- certainly capable of tying knots tight enough to prevent the escape of the captive, the knowledge of this brought Wren no comfort. She struggled all the harder, kicking her heel into the bed post in frustration when the ropes showed no sign of moving, bringing tears of pain and anger to her eyes.

It seemed that she had escaped a death-trap only to be put in a prison.

Wren was frightened, too, more frightened than she had been when she was able to run away. She was trapped now, trapped like a bird in a cage, with no hope of getting out, and somewhere within her, some instinct told her that when she could not run, that when she could not fight, she was dead.

But she couldn't think of that, she couldn't let hopelessness overtake her, so she willingly supplemented with anger.

Wren was so angry that she didn't even flinch when the door opened slightly, casting a harsh light onto her face. She glared at the door, expecting Nursie, or maybe that bastard who had gotten her into this mess at the first. Of course, Wren was aware that he had saved her life back there, but she wasn't in any place nor mood to be kind, especially not in her current situation. So when a gangly-limbed body stepped through the door, Wren's lip curled in disgust and she held back a snarl.

He closed the door after him, locking it, much to Wren's alarm, and walked over to a chest of drawers that was painfully far from her, placing what looked like a tray of food on it. She blanched. _Food? _Wren hadn't remembered eating since the previous lunchtime, but she had quite forgotten to be hungry until then, curse it. The boy walked back to the door, and only then did Wren notice a distinct limp to his otherwise heavy movements, and he made a pretense of leaning leisurely against the door, and looked at her with almost triumphant eyes and brows raised, a slight smile quivering his thin lips.

"This amuses you, does it?" Wren said coldly, wincing when her voice came out hoarse, and endeavoring to keep her anger under control.

"Greatly."

"So you've found nothing else to amuse you in this hell-hole?"

The boy ignored that insult of his house and shrugged, "Not really."

"And so you've come down here to... do what? Laugh at me? Wound me?" Wren felt her anger rising again, and she found to her humiliation that she was trembling. "Or whatever else you brought me here to do to me?" She looked him in the face, glaring into his dark eyes, "I'd rather have taken my chances with that mob."

The boy's mouth opened in shock at what she implied, and his eyebrows snapped together and he shook his head vehemently. "No, I wouldn't... Wouldn't... I... _No_." and for a moment, he looked almost tragic, so tragic and disgusted that Wren would've pitied him in a different situation. But he seemed to regain his composure, adopting a simply scornful look that banished all thoughts of pity as he absorbed the insult.

"You would've rather taken your chances with them?" He laughed bitterly, "You're obviously not from around here, then. Either that, or you're an idiot. Or mad. Only an idiot would have been out in the Port at night, wandering the streets like walking the corridors of the Ramblings, feeling utterly safe. And only a mad person would take the 21 Gang over safety-"

"_Safety?" _Wren spat at him, her voice rapidly rising in pitch, "You call this safety? From the moment I walked into this goddess-forsaken place, I was tied up here like a prisoner and locked in without hope of getting out. My things have been taken from me, so I have been unable to treat my wounds, which will surely become infected if I do not see to them. And you come here and expect me to be _thankful _for it?" She struggled against her bindings like a wildcat in a cage, biting her lip against the pain in her wrists, and flinched when she felt hands grab her shoulders and stay her.

"Shut_up." _The boy hissed, glaring with eyes that flared black and green-specked fire, "_Shutup_, you idiot! You think she _knows _I'm down here? No!"

Wren blinked in surprise, though her eyes were narrowed. So he'd snuck down here... for what? To mock her? As angry and resentful as she felt currently, Wren highly doubted it. He wouldn't have brought her food if he meant to laugh at her... "So, why are you-"

"I'm here because..." the boy looked over his shoulder as if the door and walls themselves would judge him for what he was about to say, but he looked her square in the face when he said, "You're obviously a healer. A young one and probably not very good either, but my leg..." he faltered here, swallowing, "And my shoulders... and- Well, I'm hurt and I need attention. I'd generally go to someone of greater experience..." He faltered again, rolling his eyes at the dry, unimpressed look that she was shooting him, "But they're few and far between down in the Port these days. So, I really guess I'll have to make-do with you."

Merrin really didn't mean it to come across as so offensive, but he knew of no better way of asking for help than belittling the person he was asking, thanks to DomDaniel, and thus his request was unkind and critical. Wren didn't care- well, she did, but she was learning to ignore some of the things that the dark boy told her. She knew an opportunity when she saw one, and this one was perfect.

"Why, thank you." Wren quipped dryly, looking back at him, "But I cannot offer my limited services while my hands are tied. My feet are not as adept at tying bandages and stitching as they should be. Obviously, another of my failings."

The boy ignored the sarcasm and took out his dagger- a new, sharp one with a dark hilt- and approached her. Wren swallowed hard; she was no fan of knives, and sucked in her breath as the boy held the sharp edge in front of her neck, his dark, haunted eyes staring at her pointedly. "If you try to escape, healer, I'll use it." He needed to say nothing more; they both knew how good he was with that knife, and how fast he was on his feet; wounded or not, he'd catch up to Wren before she got to the front door.

Wren clenched her teeth and pushed her chin out, willing her voice not to quiver and betray her fear "Just cut me free. Every second you're wasting threatening me is only increasing your chances of disease."

Merrin cut her bonds expertly, frowning at the red welts around her wrists from where the rope had rubbed her skin, and threw the ropes to the side as they fell away. He heard her sigh of relief, and as he staggered to the sit on the bed, he watched as she rubbed her wrists and winced. She grabbed her knapsack, unpacking little packages wrapped in protective covering; salve, a needle, and various herbs and remedies he had never seen, let alone hope to identify.

The healer worked efficiently, applying salve to the wound on his leg and pretending not to notice when Merrin flinched as she stitched it up, bandaging it with strips of her own blouse afterwards. Merrin stared when she did this, but the healer appeared not to be perturbed by the tears in her clothing. She worked her way up his body, treating his wounds while saying little but giving him quiet instructions and murmuring to herself. She didn't even blink when he took off tunic, sitting only in his trousers, blushing madly, as she worked on his torso, shoulders, and neck, leaving the slash on his right cheek until last.

Merrin couldn't believe how gentle she was being. All the healers he had known had done their jobs with an impatient roughness that made him flinch and often hurt more than the original wound had. But now, this young healer's thin fingers applied salve to his cheek, light as a butterfly. Merrin looked at her from the corner of his eye while she worked, biting her lip slightly in concentration and her eyes narrowed while she put a small strip of fabric on his cheek.

"That one may leave a scar, I'm afraid." She informed him, pursing her lips in annoyance, "As well as the one on your leg- they're too deep and left too long unchecked." She gave him a thin-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes and sat on the bed, tearing more at her shirt as she began to treat her own wounds with the same business-like calm that she had done with him.

Merrin watched her momentarily, wondering if he could simply walk out the door without saying a word. That's what DomDaniel would've done, no doubt what everyone expected him to do too. But he had left that world behind him. "Thank you for treating me."

"You're welcome." Was the only reply.

Merrin looked about him, standing up and stretching, and finding, much to his delight, that he felt much better. He looked over at the chest where he had left the food, then back at the healer. She must've been starving.

"It's not poisoned, you know."

The girl looked up at him, surprised and confused, "I'm sorry?"

"The food." Merrin suddenly felt extremely awkward, standing around the bed speaking about poisoned food with this wounded girl treating her own wounds. She was a healer; she would've doubtlessly been able to tell whether her food was poisoned or not. Great. Now she would think he was an idiot. He waited for the disparaging comment to come.

It didn't. The girl simply looked at him, confused but amused, and a small smile appeared on her lips. "That's good to know."

What could he say to that?

Silence again stretched between them, but it was almost companionable, broken only by the replacement of the vials and material into the knapsack, and the food being set onto the bed. She ate quietly and quickly, with no regard for table manners, practically wolfing her food down, much to Merrin's amusement. After the food was finished- almost as quickly as it had appeared- a hesitant conversation started, consisting mainly of quiet questions and short answers, and Merrin felt his frown disappearing. But some of the questions that were asked couldn't help but be long.

"You called them the 21 Gang?" The healer asked him, almost embarrassed, "I... I'm not familiar with them."

Merrin blinked back at her, his mouth set, "I gathered. Most people outside past dark are either foreigners, idiots, or mad. Perfect targets for the 21 Gang." He looked at her, and the healer noticed his eyes hardening, "The 21 Gang are ex-members of the Young Army- you've heard of them, doubtlessly-" he didn't wait for a reply. Everyone around the Castle in any direction- even to the Badlands- had heard of or lost a son or daughter to the Young Army, a rigorous training programme created by the Supreme Custodian and approved (although no one ever mentioned it lest it disgrace her memory) by the lovely Queen Cérys. The programme was designed as a fool-proof war tactic- for children given to the army as babes would know no other life but that of war and weapons and death, and those who were not apprenticed at the age of 11 would be sent to the Army as older expendables- and the training was laborous to and far past the point of cruelty. Most of the children who were taken to the Young Army were never seen again, and countless families had been affected. That was why, when the Rightful Heir had returned to the Castle to take her place as Princess Jenna, the Young Army was the first thing to go (other than the Supreme Custodian, of course, but we all know that story). Anyway, even in the depths of the Wendron Forest, the Witches themselves had been affected by the Young Army, often having a few of their own taken, and they themselves kidnapping some of the young girls for retribution, making them Witches to save them from turning into mindless war machines. So the healer knew of the Young Army well.

"They're ex-members of the Young Army," Merrin explained, "Whose families had been exiled or had not picked them up after the programme was disbanded. Sometimes, the families did come to get them, but could not bear to keep them because of what they had become, so the kids are left to wander the streets." He sighed, "They set up camp in Warehouse 21 of the Port, the older kids setting up a system of rules and whatnot, and basically, they've been there ever since- stealing from local shops, mugging people, the like. They've gotten worse as the group's gotten older, though, and their needs are somewhat more... expanded." Merrin swallowed, his eyes narrowed at the bed in disgust. "Sometimes it's just the girls in the group- but they've gotten boring, I guess... they're starting to go for local girls..dragging them kicking and screaming to the warehouse and kicking them out after they're done, generally pregnant. They go for the ones that wander around at night, easier targets" He added, with a sideways glance in her direction.

The healer was frowning, clearly troubled. That could've easily been her, one of those girls the gang dragged kicking and screaming to the warehouse. She took a shaky breath and nodded, looking up at him.

"Thank you." She murmured, "For saving me, that is."

Merrin stared back at her, mouth slightly open, forehead creased. He couldn't remember the last time someone had said that to him. _Thank you. _Something so plain and ordinary that it was so often taken for granted, but Merrin couldn't remember someone turning that thanks on him. It felt... good.

"You're welcome." He muttered, looking at the ground in front of him.

A small silence stretched between them again, broken when she girl spoke again.

"I have one final question."

"Yes...?"

"What is your name?"

Merrin blinked in surprise. Another phrase so ordinary, so friendly, that he didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth to give his usual response to the rare question, but was surprised again when he gave neither of the responses he expected himself to give.

"Merrin Meredith."

What?

He couldn't have just given her that name. That was his... his... _slave name. _The name he spent ages denying. He couldn't look at her. He knew what he would say to such a name. Merrin- a strange name. Meredith- worse, a _girl's _name. He couldn't receive the ridicule from her that he knew would come, but somehow he forced himself to look at her, where he was infinitely surprised by her simply smiling at him- another first.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Merrin. I'm Wren. Wren Ellawyn."

A strange name. Perhaps not quite as strange as Merrin, but still strange. Merrin liked it immediately.

Then, if only to add to the many firsts and surprises of that night, Merrin felt himself smile for what felt like the first time ever.

"It's good to meet you too, Wren."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**Keep a lookout for the next chapter~**


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